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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427106">ask to be unbroken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbookworm/pseuds/lesbianbookworm'>lesbianbookworm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(not for Sam this time... except kinda for Sam), Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Blood, Established Castiel/Sam Winchester, F/M, Gore, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, Lucifer Possessing Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Manipulation, Past Torture, Post-Episode: s11e10 The Devil in the Details, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Winchester Has PTSD, Sam Winchester Remembers Lucifer's Cage, Season/Series 11, Torture, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Violence, title brought to you as always by hozier fanfic title generator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:34:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbookworm/pseuds/lesbianbookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had known that facing Lucifer again would not be easy. But returning from the Cage with his faith shattered leaves him reeling, struggling with memories he'd thought long ago repressed and buried. At least he's got his brother and Cas, his boyfriend, to help him back to his feet. But Dean is struggling too, the Darkness looming over him, her shadow threatening to swallow the earth whole. And Cas was affected by the visit to the Cage as well, his grace changed by the strain of entering a place that was designed to weaken angels. And with all of them drowning, Sam isn't sure if they'll be strong enough to hold each other up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to another fanfiction by Me! Please be advised that this is a) a work in progress (so updates might be slow, but I will try and avoid too long breaks) and b) once again quite dark. I will, as always, include trigger warnings in front of each chapter as applicable and update the trigger warnings in the tags as well if any new triggers appear in new chapters, but please take caution.</p><p>Either way, I hope you are all healthy and doing fine despite the current measures and I hope you'll enjoy this fanfiction!</p><p>TW: flashbacks to violence, descriptions of a panic attack</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s fear, the smell of blood and ozone and sweat, a blinding light and then- nothing. The cage’s empty and before Sam’s able to draw a full breath, he’s standing outside on solid ground again. He’s left facing metal bars, which surround only emptiness, hell on the other side and the copper taste of his own blood in his mouth, but at least there’s no ice racing through his veins and his body is his own. He suddenly feels lightheaded, not quite sure if it’s from relief or the beating he just took.</p><p> </p><p>“That… was a damn stupid idea, Sammy”, Dean gasps by his side, his brother’s arm tensing to support what his own shaky legs can’t. </p><p> </p><p>“At least now we know that Lucifer is not an option”, Cas supplies, his own face bloody and already bruising from Lucifer’s fury.</p><p> </p><p>Guilt flares up in Sam’s chest - his brother and friend had done this for him, had thrown themselves into a pit with the Devil in it and although they had all come out of it alive, they had still gotten hurt - but he fights it down. He knows they wouldn’t appreciate him voicing that just yet.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to say something, cheer them up somehow, but he can’t find the words. Finally Cas breaks the silence for him. “We’ll find another way. We always do.”</p><p> </p><p>They turn and limp towards Rowena and Crowley, who are still leaning against the railing and looking down at the cage. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome…” Rowena smiles, then she raises an eyebrow when only silence answers. “Anyone?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean scowls and Sam flinches as he feels Dean’s arm tense, accidentally putting pressure against his bruised rips, but going lax immediately when he notices Sam's discomfort. “Bite me!” his brother spits out, his earlier worry finally finding an explosive outlet.</p><p> </p><p>“I can make her do that”, Crowley grins and despite the fact that Sam didn’t much like the witch - after all she had screwed them over quite a lot - something sours in his stomach at the way Crowley flaunts the absolute control he has over his mother thanks to the magical collar fastened around her neck. Her eyes darken at the reminder, the ease of just a moment ago melting away and Sam quickly averts his gaze, unable to watch anymore of this.</p><p> </p><p>“So what now?”, he interrupts, knowing that Dean is probably as disgusted by Crowley’s actions as he is and struggling to find a fitting answer. Even though he knows it’s hopeless - Lucifer was their last straw, there is nothing left after him - he needs to change the topic. </p><p> </p><p>But Crowley is as useless as the rest of them and he shrugs. “About the Darkness? No clue.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll figure it out”, Dean promises, straightening a bit to deliver the promise with a confidence that Sam knows he can't possibly feel.</p><p> </p><p>“Or die screaming”, Rowena mumbles and Sam can feel Dean tensing beside him again, glaring daggers at the witch.</p><p> </p><p>Then Crowley leans back and claps his hands together, the sound incredibly loud in this empty hall of hell, echoing from the walls and for a second Sam wonders how his screams would have sounded here if the cage wasn’t magically sound proofed. Thankfully Crowley seems to notice how the atmosphere that wasn’t exactly friendly to begin with sours further. Sam also knows they have to get out of here before his brother does something stupid, like attack a centuries old witch with only his bare hands. “Well, this has been a horrible train wreck, so we’re done. Team up over.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam lifts his arm and points at Rowena, even though his ribs are protesting in pain. He feels the need to at least ask what Crowley is planning with her. “What about her?”</p><p> </p><p>Now Crowley scowls, anger flaring, but Sam just faced down the Devil himself and Crowley’s hissy fits haven’t impressed him in years. “She stays”, Crowley finally bites out. “The rest of you lot… get the hell out of Hell.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence hovers dangerously for a second and then Dean nods, quick and curt, a goodbye, and takes the first step, gently pulling Sam with him. After that they are finally moving again, Sam’s left knee shooting sharp pangs up his body at every step, but the further they get away from the cage, from him, the easier it gets to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>This might not be over, but it could have been so much worse, Sam knows. And when they finally step all the way out of hell again, Sam draws in a deep breath of air and despite his terror a wave of relief hits him so hard he stumbles again, barely managing to catch himself against the Impala before he drags Dean and himself down.</p><p> </p><p>Then he’s laughing, his relief filling the air. Dean relaxes beside him and even Cas has a soft smile on his face as they wait for Sam to get himself under control again.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally calms down, Dean straightens carefully, making sure Sam is steady enough to hold himself up and walks over to Cas. “You alright?” His eyes linger on the blood that’s still on Cas’ face and for a second Cas is quiet, making anxiety churn harder in Sam’s gut.</p><p> </p><p>“I think so”, Cas finally answers. And then a smile spreads across his face, a small slightly awkward smile, more a quirk of the lip than any actual emotion. “I will be”, he reassures and even though Sam can tell he’s not entirely sure it’s better than he expected. </p><p> </p><p>He notices that Dean also relaxes further before he turns towards the Impala again, shoulders slumping in relief and exhaustion. “You want me to give you a lift?”</p><p> </p><p>Cas is silent again as he considers his options and then he locks his gaze with Sam’s. He smiles softly and nods and Sam nods as well, hoping to convey the gratitude he feels with the small movement. At the same time a sudden ice cold shiver runs down Sam’s back and he gasps as his knees finally give way under him. He hisses at the pain shooting up his leg as his knee slams into the ground again, but mostly he feels burning bile rise in his throat. He had know that the adrenaline would give out sooner or later and he’d crash, but he’d rather have it been anywhere else than in this dirty and wet alleyway, where Crowley might still be watching them. </p><p> </p><p>Dean and Cas are on him in a second, hands dragging and pulling and it’s cold, it’s so incredibly cold and Sam knows it’s from the water, but suddenly the adrenaline is back, blood roaring in his ears and he pushes himself away from the both of them, needs to escape their hands before they dig into him, rip through cloth and flesh and tear until there’s nothing left of him just so Lucifer can lovingly and gently stitch him back together, rebuild him in his own image.</p><p> </p><p>He pushes back, swings out blindly, connects with flesh, the meaty thwap followed by a grunt and finally he’s free to stumble up and away, away from the cool metal of the impala, the ice that’s creeping into his bones, Dean and Cas. “I’m sorry, I need-” he can’t finish the sentence, because suddenly he realizes he hit either Dean or Cas, when they just wanted to help him and guilt clenches his gut again. He whirls around, static flashing over his vision and he realizes he’s hyperventilating, the exhaustion, potential concussion and blank panic uniting forces to take him down. He gulps down a deep breath of air, counts to three, exhales, repeats that a few times, knowing he can’t allow the panic to overtake him yet. When he’s finally able to see straight again, he hurries back around the car to where he left Dean and Cas behind in his terrified need to escape.</p><p> </p><p>Dean is on the ground, Cas crouched over him, obscuring most of his brother with his own body, and it feels like Sam’s heart stops for a second - what if he accidentally seriously injured Dean and Cas is too drained to fix him or he was too late and - but then Dean twitches and Sam drops to the ground again, ignoring the ice that races up his spine when his knee lands in a small puddle.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean groans and now that Sam can see him, he relaxes a bit, because his brother’s rolling his eyes at him, despite the bloodied nose. “Well, I feel like the world's sorest loser in a baby fight, seriously you should have seen the way you hit” Dean fakes a swoon and pushes his hand out in a limp and over exaggerated weak motion, making a soft whining noise as he does so, a small grin on his face, even though his eyes shine with worry. “So, emotionally it’s a no, but otherwise yes.”</p><p> </p><p>For a second Sam wants to fire back a “jerk” at the teasing, let Dean know he’s okay or he will be again, but he knows how Dean would reply and- (I’m not ready to be your bitch again. And he wasn’t, but what he wanted or was ready for hadn’t mattered down there, hadn’t mattered at all and if they hadn’t gotten out, history could have repeated itself so easily) - he’s just not in the right mood for that, so he swallows it down like the bile that’s risen in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry. Should I drive or are you good?” He knows his voice is still shaky and he can’t put as much conviction into the offer as he’d like. With nausea and dizziness, fear and pain, rolling in waves through him, he’d prefer getting to slump into the seat and maybe sleep or count streetlights, like he used to do as a kid sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Dean huffs and pulls himself up into a sitting position. “I can drive. Can’t let you think that any time you want to take baby out on a joyride, all you gotta do is break my nose.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not broken, Dean”, Cas interrupts, apparently as anxious as the rest of them to get out of this alleyway. “But if you want, I can heal it for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean gives him a lazy thumb up and a little burst of grace later - one that Sam watches with concern, because even that tiny bit seems to leave Cas breathing a bit heavier - he looks good as new.</p><p> </p><p>“Sam, your turn” Dean mumbles and Sam quickly shakes his head, declining the offer.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, Cas. I just wanna get home, get some rest.”</p><p> </p><p>Cas looks disappointed and slightly angry and Sam can’t fault him for that. He knows that it hurts Cas to the see ones he loves in pain like this, but he’s thankful when Cas doesn’t push and lets it go.</p><p> </p><p>Sam holds out his hand for Cas to grab and help him up, hoping it will show him that while he’s not entirely okay after what just happened, he’s not going to withdraw completely and that him not wanting Cas to use his powers on him doesn't mean he’s pushing him away or thinking he’s useless. He steels himself this time for the all too familiar shock that races through his arm when Cas’ clammy skin touches his and he even manages to force a shaky smile on his lips. Cas keeps a straight face throughout it all, barely even reacting when Sam flinches. Maybe Cas is also trying to hide how worried he is. He’s a Winchester after all.</p><p> </p><p>Despite Cas’ outward ease, worry gnaws at him as Cas carefully helps him around the car and into the passenger seat. No one knows how being in the cage could affect a normal angel. What if it somehow messed with Cas’ grace? Back when he had pulled Sam’s body out of the cage, he had only reached into the cage for a second to grab Sam and he had been super charged thanks to what they had always assumed to be God’s help. But now…</p><p> </p><p>Either way, Sam doesn’t want to bring it up right now, not before they’re somewhere safe, just in case Crowley has ears or eyes near them, knowing that they can’t show any more weakness than they already have, but he files it away for later.</p><p> </p><p>After he drags the door closed and Cas slides into the seat behind him, he leans his head against the window and waits for Dean to start the car. It doesn’t take long and by the time Dean is pulling out the alleyway and getting ready to take them home, Sam is drifting off.</p><p> </p><p>The last thing he sees before his eyes slide shut is Cas watching him intently in the mirror. For just a second his eyes seem to reflect in a glowing red, like the headlights of a passing car, and then Sam drifts off, the concussion catching up with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have to say I am floored by the response I got to this fanfiction so far. I really didn't expect it, but I am very grateful and happy! And because of that I spent A Lot of today writing (well... when i wasn't busy listening to The Magnus Archives new episode) and so I feel comfortable uploading the second chapter already. I hope you enjoy it again and thank you, thank you, thank you!</p>
<p>TW: Some anxiety and mentions of the cage, with implications of past torture. Also some stuff that's not creepy for Sam, but for us, who are In The Know... it's kinda creepy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam wakes up as the Impala rumbles over the uneven ground of the hidden tunnel that leads to the Bunker’s garage. As the tunnel swallows them, Sam can feel himself relax. After the cage arriving here feels comforting in a way he hadn’t quite expected it too. With everything that happened behind those walls - Gadreel, his mind helpfully supplies, and Kevin and Dean under the influence of the Mark of Cain - he had never really felt at home. But now? It feels safe, its many wards sure to keep out demons and other monsters. And that’s more than any other place he’s ever spent a longer period of time in can say for itself.</p>
<p>His head feels better after sleeping, even though it certainly hasn’t been enough or very restful with Dean waking him every half hour to check if the concussion had gotten worse. When Sam had protested that Cas could heal him if that happened, Dean had simply shrugged and said that Cas could heal him now. The implication that he would only allow him to rest after his protective big brother role had been fulfilled (the fear at how he had failed just before, terror at how much worse he could have messed this up, clear in his pleading eyes), had been enough to stop Sam from trying to suggest another solution. Still he’s thankful for the small doses of sleep he received - and even though Dean’s fussing hadn’t let him sink very deep, it had also kept any potential nightmares at bay, a bonus Sam is more than willing to accept. When he shifts, he realizes that Cas’s hand is resting on his shoulder, wedged between the side of the impala and the headrest. He leans his head towards it, but worry cramps his stomach painfully, when he feels cold radiating through the edges of the trench coat’s sleeve that Cas has pushed up to cover his fingers.</p>
<p>Noticing that he’s awake, Cas quickly pulls his hand back and leans forward. “Are you okay?” he asks and Sam nods.</p>
<p>For a second he waits for Dean to roll his eyes or for Cas to if he really means that, when he realizes that he’s not just saying that like he normally would. As interrupted as his sleep was, he feels better than he has in quite a while - better than since the darkness was released, better than before Dean died and turned into a demon and definitely better than he had after finding out about Gadreel or back when he was dying of the Trials - and Sam can’t fight down a relieved smile. It’s not perfect, not with the end of the world pending once more, but they all just survived Lucifer and escaped without releasing him and that has to count for something. He meets Cas’ eyes in the mirror and nods again, hoping that his sincerity shines through clearly.</p>
<p>“That’s good”, Cas mumbles, a soft smile on his lips and then the impala finally rolls to a stop. </p>
<p>“Good morning, sleeping beauty. How’s that head of yours doing?”</p>
<p>Sam rolls his eyes at his brother’s comment, opens his mouth to respond something along the lines of “well, if I could sleep for more than half an hour before the impala turns back into a pumpkin, it’d be better, but I’m fine”, when he realizes there’s no pain at all anymore, not even a small twinge, despite the subconscious way he twisted his body towards Dean to reply. He falters surprised and lets out a stuttering breath, before he finally composes himself enough to answer. Dean has shifted as well, eying him carefully and clearly worried. “Actually… I’m good. I guess sleeping, really sleeping without any dreams, helped”, Sam says and there must be something in his tone that shows that he means it, because Dean relaxes visibly.</p>
<p>For a second something tugs at his thoughts, another irrational fear raising from the depths of his PTSD riddled mind - what if it’s just like with Gadreel? Injuries didn’t stay then either - but Sam pushes it away. He didn’t say yes, not once, while he was in the cage. There was no way Lucifer had found a way to possess him or leave the cage without his clear consent. And more importantly, he knows Lucifer. Lucifer would want him to know if he was possessing him again, would gloat about it, had gloated about it in fact. Lucifer had been so sure Sam wouldn’t be able to throw him back in the cage, he had let him keep the rings in his pocket after all and kept him right at the edge of his conscience, unable to do anything, but forced to watch everything he did (without control over his eyelids, he hadn’t even been able to shut out the visual aspects of it, much less the physical). And despite everything else that came after, Lucifer had vastly preferred him to know the creator of his destruction. He swallows down bile and shifts to get out of the car, not wanting to mess up the upholstery in case his exhausted body decides to betray him. At the movement a sharp pain shoots through his chest, the rib that Lucifer cracked against the cage bars protesting against him lifting himself from the uncomfortable position he was resting in and relief spreads through Sam.</p>
<p>Maybe he simply hadn’t hit his head as hard as he thought he had, maybe it had been his fear and panic making him feel lightheaded and dizzy instead of a concussion, maybe memories could be at fault for the fact that he had felt a lot more beaten than he did now. Whatever it is, Sam doesn’t want to analyze it further at the moment.</p>
<p>He realizes that Dean and Cas are watching him carefully, both of them looking ready to spring into action and administer whatever forms of first aid they can. He turns to them again, toning down his smile a bit. “I’m fine. Just forgot my ribs were hurt.”</p>
<p>Dean obviously doesn’t entirely believe him, but when an investigative once over doesn’t turn up any signs of immediate danger to Sam’s life, he shrugs and gets out of the Impala. “I’ll get the bags. Cas, help him to his room and make sure he gets some sleep, alright?”</p>
<p>Despite his gruff and stoic demeanor, Sam can hear how relieved he is. It wasn’t a win and Sam’s going to get an earful of “I told you so”s after he gets some sleep, he’s sure of that, but at the moment Dean is just glad all of them made it out of there in one piece and that they got back to the bunker without any problems and so is Sam.</p>
<p>Cas is waiting for him when Sam finally manages to shift into a position that will allow him to move out of the impala and grabs him carefully under the arms to help him up instead of reaching for Sam’s extended hand. It makes the process a bit easier - Sam’s rib wouldn’t have like the other option - but despite the short contact through multiple layers, Sam can feel that Cas is cooler than normal. The fact that Cas seems to be trying to hide it from him for some reason makes him even more worried. Maybe when they’re in their room and able to talk through the events of the day, he’ll find the right words to ask about it. He knows that the angel can be pretty touchy about his grace since Metatron ripped it from him to close down heaven, even more so after Rowena cursed him with the attack dog spell that confined him to the Bunker for quite some time, knows Cas is always worried about becoming so powerless again, partially for his own protection, but mostly because he feels useless when he’s unable to help them. He’s going to have to be careful about it. As unsettled as he is by what happened, he’s sure Cas isn’t unaffected by it either. After all besides him, Cas is the one person who knows most of what happened in the cage, even though the majority of Sam’s memories had been so muddled by time and PTSD that the angel hadn’t been able to truly take all of it in, even after he shifted the top most layer of trauma to himself. At least that’s what Sam has been able to glean from the few times they had tried to talk about it. They had never gone into detail, neither of them willing to reopen old wounds.</p>
<p>Sam lets Cas guide him through the bunker’s hallways and only startles out of his thoughts when Cas opens the door to their room. He gently helps him sit down on the bed and then lowers himself further to start untying Sam’s boots, his fingers tracing carefully down Sam’s leg as he goes.</p>
<p>Sam flushes and shoos Cas away with the gentle command to clean himself up first. He used his grace to remove the blood on his face and trench coat, but Cas has come to enjoy the comfort of taking off his familiar set of clothes and slipping into something more comfortable for a while now. And Sam still has a little bit of pride. He’s not a toddler after all and a rib injury is not going to stop him from undressing and getting ready for bed by himself. He bends down to take off his shoes and breathes carefully through the pain when his rib protests. It’s definitely not broken and Sam has no issues breathing, so he’s not in any danger. The pain is still annoying, especially since it limits his movements, but Sam’s been through worse. He finally manages to struggle out of his pants as well and then gingerly gets up, walking carefully to his closet. He hesitates for a second, but after grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, he also reaches for his sweatpants. Since Cas moved into his room, they only rarely wore more than one layer, but after the day Sam just had, he feels he needs the extra cover.</p>
<p>Shortly after Sam manages to struggle into his sweatpants, the door creaks open behind him. Sam turns around carefully, not wanting to jolt his rib, and is met with Cas’ intense gaze fixed directly on him. The angel looks angry and sad at the same time, but then his face softens again before he takes a small step forward, his hands reaching for Sam, before stopping, twitching aimlessly in empty air.</p>
<p>“You could have waited, I could have helped you.”</p>
<p>Sam feels his stomach drop at the disappointment in Cas’ voice. Before he can reply though, Cas turns towards the bed and settles down on it. “How are your wounds feeling? Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?”</p>
<p>Sam carefully moves back over to the bed and lowers himself down next to Cas. “You being here already helps a lot. I think I just need a bit of sleep. But…” Sam hesitates for a moment, unsure if Cas will maybe see the offering as an even more painful reminder of his inability to help, but he decides to test the waters anyway. He doesn’t actually think Cas will take offense to it and maybe it will help him feel a bit more confident in Sam’s health. “You can take a quick look at my rib if you want to?” Maybe seeing the nasty bruise that was probably already blooming - intimidating, but much less scarier than an actually broken or cracked rib - would finally help convince Cas that it isn’t actually that bad. All in all, considering who they faced down, a bruised ribcage, a bitten tongue and knuckle imprints on his cheeks are nothing. He’d had a lot worse facing down ordinary monsters every day. And yet-</p>
<p>(Lucifer’s words still ring in his ears, powerful because of the memories they evoke. “I could inflict pain like you can’t even imagine. I could inflict such delicious perfect pain.” And Lucifer had. He had spent years and decades and centuries showing Sam exactly how much pain he could inflict to the point where Sam isn’t sure there’s anything he couldn’t imagine. But that was over! He was out, he was safe and Lucifer was still down there and despite the weakened cage clearly unable to escape without a vessel and Crowley wouldn’t let anybody near the cage again, not after this disaster and sure they couldn’t always trust Crowley, but he hated Lucifer and-”</p>
<p>“Sam, are you okay?”</p>
<p>Sam snaps back to awareness and notices his spine has grown rigid and his breaths fast and shallow. He swallows hard and forces himself to breathe slower. His fingers continue to drum against the edge of the bed and he’s too exhausted to stop the involuntary movement. “I… No, not really, but I will be.” Then he forces a smile, suddenly desperate to get this over with and go to bed. He’s tired, the sudden onslaught of memories having drained the remainder of his strength. “So, how about it? Or do you not want me to take off my shirt for you any longer?” It comes out weak and shaky, the smile he tries far too thin and shaky to be anything real.</p>
<p>But Cas perks up, a smile playing around his lips and he nods. Sam can feel himself relax as he carefully starts unbuttoning his flannel. “Can I help?” Cas asks, obviously eager to finally get to do something for Sam. </p>
<p>Sam, knowing that it could be awkward and painful to struggle out of the T-Shirt himself, nods and then Cas’ hands are on him. They are still cold, but Sam expected that and while he can’t completely control the way his muscles jump under the sudden coolness, he manages to stay still otherwise, while Cas quickly and efficiently unbuttons his flannel. </p>
<p>“I can’t lift my arm over my head”, Sam warns as Cas reaches for the hem of Sam’s T-Shirt. </p>
<p>“That’s fine, I’ll just roll it up enough to see.” Cas is not looking at him, leaving Sam to read the emotion in his slightly trembling voice. Knowing Cas it’s probably somewhere between frustration about the famed Winchester oxen stubbornness that carried them down this path in the first place, anger at Lucifer and regret that he didn’t manage to spare him this encounter all together.</p>
<p>He bundles his shirt all the way up to Sam’s armpit, knuckles dragging over Sam’s ribs and then his fingers are on Sam’s bare skin. It’s freezing, colder than he expected and Sam can’t bite down a small hiss, but he manages to keep from jumping under the touch. Cas only pulls back a bit and after hesitating for a second, his jaw clenching visibly, apparently decides that getting this over with quickly is the better option.</p>
<p>Sam can feel his heart beating faster, its racing thunder drowning out any other noise as his entire attention tunnels in on the cold fingers poking and prodding around his hurt rib. It seems to take an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds during which Sam clutches the sheets of his bed until his knuckles turn white and then finally, mercifully Cas pulls back and drops Sam’s shirt.</p>
<p>“It’s not broken, just a bruise”, Cas declares and after taking another deep breath Sam forces his fingers to relax as the mattress besides him shifts as Cas gets up. He returns holding a sweater, the zip already opened and he offers Sam one of the holes to push his arm through. “I thought maybe an extra layer could help.”</p>
<p>“Thank you”, Sam mumbles as he carefully maneuvers first one arm and then the other, allowing Cas to close the zip. “Cas… are you okay?”</p>
<p>Sam lifts his gaze and finally fixes Cas pointedly, pushing aside the exhaustion that still threatens to pull him down, wanting to give Cas his full attention.</p>
<p>For a moment Cas is stunned as if he hadn’t expected the question and bile raises in Sam’s throat. Did Cas think so low of himself? Or did he simply think Sam would be too preoccupied with his own pain to show him the slightest concern? After all Cas had taken quite a few punches down there as well and just because Sam couldn’t allow himself to be healed via grace right now, didn’t mean he was worse off than the angel or didn’t care for him. Maybe he should have asked earlier. Dean did, but that had been right outside hell, when it’s likely neither of them had felt comfortable expressing their emotions, except in the gruff manner they were known for. </p>
<p>Then somethings shifts in Cas again and his gaze grows softer. “Of course I am. We got out. We’re together. That’s the important part, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Again he reaches towards him and Sam lets him. Cas carefully intertwines their fingers. Sam is more prepared for the cold that races through his palm up his arm and so he manages not to jerk, although he’s sure his muscles still involuntarily tense noticeably. He knows he could push further, force an answer out of Cas, but right now he realizes Cas doesn’t really want to talk about it, or he would have offered another answer, and for now he can respect that wish. Maybe Cas just wants to forget what happened, even if it’s just for a few hours of uneasy sleep and whatever mindnumbing TV-Series he might turn on to pass the time. Maybe Cas wants to allow a few hours to pass before they tear open wounds that will surely involve the other terrors of the cage. Sam can understand that urge. He squeezes Cas’ hand with a soft smile and then slowly untangles their fingers.</p>
<p>“You’re right. I think… I think I just need some sleep. You can watch Netflix if you want.” Sam shifts carefully and finally lowers himself into his pillow, burrowing under his blanket. It’s a bit warm, but compared to the ice that still seems to sit in his bones it’s comfortable.</p>
<p>“I’m fine where I am. Sleep well”, Cas mumbles and settles down in the chair beside Sam’s bedside, eyes resting heavy on Sam. Sam meets his gaze once more, forces a smile and then closes his eyes, thoughts already drifting back to the cage.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back and again, thank you so much for your comments and enthusiasm. And those of you who suspect the worst is still to come: Yup. Because lets be real, we are talking about Lucifer here and he is scaryTM. Also will Sam ever stop sleeping in my stories? Absolutely Not. This is my nightmare projection dump. And slowly, but surely, a day will pass as well. Just not this chapter yet, bc Oh Boy, do I love being wordy. </p><p>TW: Alcohol, mentions of the Amara Slaughter Scene and implications of potential Self-Harm. Also Sam is mentally ill in this one and has some negative thoughts.</p><p>Thank you again for all of the comments &lt;3 I'm very glad you liked the last chapter and I hope you'll like this one too.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam wakes up two times, a choked scream on his lips each time, with Cas calmly mumbling for him to calm down in the chair beside his bed, his ice cold touch when he finally does reach out, only barely able to soothe Sam at all. When Sam pulls away from him again the second time, still caught up in the horrors he was reliving, Cas sighs in frustration. </p><p>“Please, Sam, there has to be a way I can help you.”</p><p>“Then stop touching me”, Sam bites out. He’s so cold and even though it’s Cas, Sam doesn’t trust himself not to sink even further into memories, the combination of cool grace and the recent confrontation with Lucifer not helping at all. Still, when Cas’ face falls, he immediately regrets his outburst. “I’m sorry, Cas, I just…”</p><p>“You need some space? Should I ask Dean to come in or do you think you’ll be okay on your own?” Cas is already getting up and turning toward the door.</p><p>“Cas, I’m sorry”, Sam tries again, but apparently having decided that Sam is not going to give him an answer to his question, only the click of a closing door replies. “Cas, wait, dammit!” Sam breaks off with a gasp, the abortive jerk to get up and hurry after Cas causing pain to radiate through his chest as his ribs twinge. As he falls back into his pillow, Sam can’t help but feel frustration bitter like bile raise in his throat. He noticed something was off with Cas and instead of trying to get an answer out of him, to at least check if there was any way he could help him, he had managed to push him away. </p><p>Sam's head is starting to pulse again as he lies there berating himself. While Sam had been sleeping, Cas must have sat there, worried about Sam and his own grace, worried about the unstoppable rise of the darkness, worried about Dean. He had taken on Sam’s memories and even though he hadn’t experienced it like Sam had, he still knew so much of that had happened and it must be weighting on him as well. He hadn’t wanted to push Cas for answers, hadn’t wanted to force him to talk, but maybe he should have tried harder to offer some form of reassurance.</p><p>His thoughts drift to Dean as well. His brother hadn't said anything, of course, but when Sam had called him before he had gone to hell, he hadn’t picked up and during the drive home he had noticed Dean’s eyes linger at mirrors for longer than they needed to to ensure a speedy trip home, his fingers trembling as they clutched the steering wheel as if it wasn’t just Hell he was running from.</p><p>He’s already screwed it up with Cas because he didn’t try hard enough and now Cas left - not cause he’s bothered with Sam of course, he’s just worried and needs some space to think without having to be afraid that his reactions could set Sam off - and he knows Dean, knows that a push in the wrong direction or a too intense questioning could get him to shut down hard and fast.</p><p>But before Sam manages to puzzle out a fitting solution to his problem - point blank asking is mostly out of the question unless he somehow manages to get Dean to open up, a process that was more akin to defusing a bomb than anything else and even then there’s no guarantee that Dean will actually say anything about what’s actually bothering him and not just retreat into the bottle and a spiral of anger - there’s a knock and then the door creaks open softly and Dean is there, holding a steaming mug in one hand and a flask of whiskey in the other.</p><p>"Cas told me you’re cold. Well, after he appeared in my room, woke me up and sobered me up with a snap of his heavenly fingers. So, since I’m awake and I gotta work on my blood alcohol levels again, I’ve decided to bring you some tea and we can chat. Or you can have a little extra to relax as well.” Dean swishes the bottle around, the whiskey reflecting muted amber from the hallway lights, refracted sparks glistening on the walls. The scent of herbs wafts over to Sam’s bed while Dean is still waiting for permission to enter through the door frame.</p><p>“You should be grateful, you know?”, Sam mumbles, feeling a grin tug at his lips at the sour face his brother made when he mentioned Cas destroying his buzz. “Cas is saving you a world of pain tomorrow. Or whenever your liver decides it had enough”, he teases and Dean rolls with it, a grin appearing on his face.</p><p>“Well, if my liver has any complaints, I’ll just dial 0800-angel and I’m sure Cas and I can arrange a session of healing hands with a friendship discount.” Sam rolls his eyes as he knows Dean expects, but something eases in him at the familiar banter. “So, how ‘bout that Chai?”</p><p>For a moment Sam hesitates, trying to decide what to do. He’s no longer tired, having already gotten more sleep than he expected he would, so it’s unlikely that he’ll manage to fall asleep again, especially when all that’s waiting for him is the smothering embrace of an empty, dark room when one of his nightmares finally shakes him awake. Then another hopeless day of research. And another. And another.</p><p>At least company sounds nice and the hot tea is more than just a nice gesture. Sam knows it’s Dean’s way of showing he cares and if Sam accepts, maybe it will also help Dean feel a little bit more comfortable, so Sam nods and carefully sits up in bed. “I didn’t even know we had Chai in the Bunker.”</p><p>Dean is not big on tea and to be honest Sam isn’t either unless they are ill, so they don’t really have a lot beside peppermint, classic black tea and a half used up carton of Throat Comfort from when Dean came down with a bad case of the cold and also got tired of the constant flow of various medicines Sam kept forcing on him. “It’s from Cas. You remember that mixed collection we bought him a while back?”</p><p>“Right, when we tried to convince him that not all molecules taste the same.” Sam can’t fight down a fond smile at the memory. For some time, while Cas had stayed at the Bunker after Rowena’s attack dog spell, Sam had always arrived in the kitchen to an already brewed cup of coffee and a random tea. They had spent their early mornings chatting and Sam had quite enjoyed listening to Cas judge various teas whenever he managed to filter through the apparently overpowering amount of taste. </p><p>As Dean places the cup on Sam’s bedside table, Sam carefully shifts further into a sitting position, not wanting to betray any weakness by moving too fast and risking his rib pinching again.</p><p>“So, you want some?”, Dean offers, pointing at the bottle he set down beside the cup. When Sam shakes his head, he mumbles a “your loss” and lifts the bottle to take a swig himself. Sam grimaces as Dean takes a long pull, but if Cas actually sobered him up after the day they just had, he can kind of understand it. Despite this, with Dean so close now, its clear this is not his first gulp of whiskey after Cas’ interference and knowing Dean probably not his second or third either. If Dean wants to, he can drink fast, even though getting drunk still takes some time. Sighing, Sam grabs his cup of tea and carefully sets it down on his blanketed lap.</p><p>A drunk Dean is a volatile Dean, prone to broody quiet as much as to outbursts of anger directed against everyone in his path and Sam knows its probably stupid to press him right now. Dean is clearly struggling with something and maybe he should wait. Wait for Cas to come back, so he has support, wait for Dean to sober up, wait for his rib to get better, wait until whatever is gnawing at Dean has been buried and repressed. But by then Dean might claim that nothing at all happened, pretending as he likes to do that if he doesn’t talk about a problem it isn’t truly there. And Sam cant let him do that. Never could. So he swallows, ignoring the warning sirens that are flaring inside his head. Wrapping his fingers a bit tighter around the cup, he starts: “Dean... how are you doing?”</p><p>For a moment Dean straightens, lowering the bottle to his side, the bottle dangling from his fingers as he slips it out of sight beside the bed, and puts on his “everything’s-okay-why-are-you-asking-pfff-of-course-I’m-fine-can’t-you-tell” mask, a fake smile charming and disarming and so wrong on his tired face. Then he drops it, realizing theres no way Sam of all people is gonna buy that. His eyes darken and his knuckles bloom white as he lifts the bottle again, his fingers now wrapping tight around the bottleneck.</p><p>“Not good. Obviously. I swore he’d never hurt you again and-” Dean breaks off, gesturing at Sam, pain flashing like neon print across his face. “I failed.”</p><p>Sam hums. He had know that something had been gnawing at Dean. “Dean, you know that’s not your fault. I chose to go down there. I thought-”</p><p>Dean interrupts him. “I know you thought it was our only chance and you had to take it then and there, and I get why you did it. I just wish you hadn't.”</p><p>Guilt twists in Sam’s gut again. Since he’d been unable to reach Dean’s phone, his brother had returned to an empty bunker. In the time until he realized where Sam and Rowena had gone, he must have been terrified. And after- well, it couldn’t have been a comforting connection to make.</p><p>“I’m sorry. For leaving you like that. I couldn’t reach you and Rowena said it was now or never and I- I just had to leave.” Sam says and Dean softens a bit. </p><p>He puts the bottle down on the table and runs his hand over his face, before he lets out a long and weary sigh. “You could have left a voice mail or sent a message. Instead I had to hear from Crowley where you are and that something went wrong. From Crowley!”</p><p>“Dean”, Sam begins again, but he knows that trying to explain his decisions will not help, at least not right now, so his voice falters. Too clear are the memories of walking into Deans room where he had laid his brother’s corpse down and returned to an empty bed, only the stink of sulfur remaining. He remembers the terror and confusion that had come with it, even before he had realized that Dean had been turned into a demon. He swallows hard. His terror at returning to the Cage had made him block everything else out. And maybe, if he’s being honest, a selfish, proud part of him hadn’t wanted Dean to be there when Sam faced Lucifer. Too high the danger of something being revealed that he didn’t want Dean to know. Still… it must have been terrifying. He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.” </p><p>For a moment Dean just stares at him, tears glistening in his eyes as he probably remembers the hope- and helplessness he experienced. Then he takes another swig of whiskey and after swallowing, answers: “Well... just don’t do it again, okay? If i wanted to see a cage fight, I’d turn on MMA.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly, knowing its what Dean expects. As if he’d been waiting for it, a sly grin appears on Dean’s face. "I gotta say, i still like Miesha Tate more. She’s got better hair”, he muses, a far-away and way too appreciative look on his face.</p><p>When Dean lets out a dreamy sigh, Sam can’t bite back a laugh, which his rib takes offense to. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”, Sam groans.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you love me, just admit it”, Dean teases, but there’s worry in his eyes as he tracks Sam’s movement, who’s carefully shifting into a position where his rib doesn’t twinge.</p><p>“It’s fine, Dean. Just a cracked rib. I’ve had worse.” Far worse, he doesn’t add, knowing that Dean knows that. He’s stitched him up for quite a few of those worse injuries. He’s heard him scream about some of the others back when his hallucinations had been at their worst.</p><p>Dean doesn’t really relax. Instead he drops his gaze, the earlier playfulness completely disappearing. “I know you can handle it. Just... Are you sure you don’t want Cas to heal you for the right reasons?”</p><p>For a moment Sam has no idea what Dean’s implying, not having expected this question at all - he’d have thought worry or maybe worried anger, but not this - then he realizes. “If you think I’m doing it to punish myself like you did, you’re wrong. It’s not that”, he protests</p><p>Dean nods grimly, remembering how he had forbidden Cas from healing him after he beat him up under the influence of the Mark of Cain. “Well, thats a relief. But why then?”</p><p>“I just... I’m not sure touching grace like that would be good for me right now.” That's the truth of course, Sam doesn’t think it would be good for his mental health at all and yet Sam can’t help but feel guilty about the lie of omission. Maybe it’s stupid, but Sam hopes that the pain will help ground him in the present, keep him from drifting too far into his past, just like it had when he had just gotten out of the cage. Not that he can tell Dean that without risking a lecture, or at the very least more worried glances. He knows himself that it isn’t healthy, but it is the best he can do for now.</p><p>Thankfully, Dean seems to buy his excuse. “Okay, I’m the last person to bother you about that, but consider it, alright? Cas... he’s taking this hard.”</p><p>“Did he say anything to you?” Cas’ sudden exit worries Sam and the thought of Cas hurting somewhere alone in the Bunker makes his heart ache.</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “No, nothing specific. He just said he needed someone to take over watching you and left. He didn’t say where he was going though.”</p><p>“What do you mean, left? Like left the Bunker left?” Sam clarifies and even before Dean nods grimly, he suspects the answer. It makes sense for Cas to need some space, but it still hurts Sam that he can’t provide any form of refuge for the angel.</p><p>Dean leans forward a bit, clearly noticing his brother’s distress and despite - or maybe because - the whiskey smell on his breath, Dean’s words are sure. “He’s gonna come back when he feels up to it, I’m sure of it. I mean, it’s Cas. He loves you.”</p><p>“Thanks, Dean”, Sam mumbles and takes a sip of tea, feeling slightly embarrassed. He has faith in Cas, of course he does, but it still feels good to have Dean affirm it like that.</p><p>“We’ll be okay”, Dean states.</p><p>Either okay or no longer in any position to care, Sam thinks bitterly and he realizes that maybe now would be the perfect time to ask about what happened. Dean is relaxed, as much as the circumstances allow at least, they’ve already shared their feelings and they will have to talk about this sooner or later. </p><p>"When you went to that church did you find any signs of Amara?"</p><p>For a second Dean’s face grows terrifyingly still, but then he shakes out of it. "No, none. Just some extra slaughter in the name of God." </p><p>"She's doing this because of God? How do you know?"</p><p>"Well, I think it just looks like it. First the religious protesters in the park, now a church. I think she’s covering her bases." Something about Dean's answer doesn’t feel quite right, but before he can mull over it to press Dean about it, a long yawn escapes him.</p><p>"You should sleep some more. You need it", Dean mumbles, already moving back and towards the door.</p><p>Exhaustion hits Sam hard and fast and he can already feel his eyelids itch to sink shut. "Yeah, you're right", he mumbles and after carefully depositing the now empty tea cup on his bedside table, he allows sleep to draw him under again, despite the terrors that lurk in the depth.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello and thank you for your comments again. I know the update took a bit longer than the others this time, but I hope you're still interested. I accidentally started a new story and for a bit it sucked all of my interest in a whole different direction (but if it works out I will finally be able to hand you a canon divergent story for another season than season 11. And a whole new set of PTSD issues for Sam to deal with than the ones mentioned here). Anyway, I hope you also enjoy this chapter again. </p><p>TW: descriptions of torture and gore, nightmares, massive flashbacks to the cage, thoughts of self harm, one instance shitty thoughts about people who self harm, drugging, A Whole Panic Attack, some disassociation, "Cas" and Dean fucking up big time<br/>Also this is partially based on my own experience with PTSD and partially based on research, but obviously media representation (as inaccurate as it can be at times) certainly also influenced this. I am not a mental health expert and have not experienced trauma of this sort, so there might be inaccuracies. I do try to be as sensitive and accurate as possible about these things, but it is possible that I mess up, especially since this is a work of fiction and i do want to tell the story i set out to tell, which only works with a little bit of *fantasy PTSD symptoms* sprinkled in for flavor, so proceed with that in mind.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam wakes with a scream strangled in his throat, heart racing and sweat beading his forehead. He takes a deep shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut, willing the images that haunted him during the night to disappear. It doesn’t really work and for a moment Sam catches himself lingering on the memories of his dream. </p><p>He had been with Lucifer again, stuck in the cage. Lucifer had touched Sam’s cheek like he had a few hours ago, the touch deceptively gentle and just like in real life Sam had frozen under it. Lucifer had smiled and suddenly his other hand had been trailing down Sam’s chest. “I missed you so much”, Lucifer had whispered, just before his fingers wormed past the buttons of Sam’s shirt and deeper, parting his rib cage and sinking all the way to his soul. At first it hadn’t even hurt, Lucifer’s fingers coming to a halt just before they truly touched him. “Did you miss me?” Lucifer crooned, his fingers inching forward before wrapping around his soul with one last cruel jerk forward and pain engulfed Sam as Lucifer twisted and tore. When Sam woke up from his haze of agony, he hadn’t actually woken up, stumbling instead from one nightmare into the next, escaping from Lucifer’s hand inside him only to be burned alive. Fade out, new scenario, again and again until finally, fading from a dissection table, the drip, drip, drip of his own blood loud in the otherwise silent room since Lucifer had cut out his vocal cords to keep him quiet, he had been mercifully returned to his room. </p><p>Sam knows that it won’t do him any good to try and figure out if it had been memories or fabrication. Brains don’t work that way, he knows that. But he wishes it was possible, allowing him to catalog the things his brain made him experience in the dream into a neat and tidy list of “you know how this feels and you survived it” and “this never happened and its never going to because you’re out and safe”. But dwelling on the memories, trying to recall specific images makes his stomach roil and the buzzing under his skin increase, so he tries to let it go, trying to think of anything else, like cute little puppies (torn apart into blood and guts and gore) and a lovely smelling meal (filled with maggots and mold, pushed in fist fulls down his throat) or- and this isn’t working either. </p><p>He forces his hands to move, uncurls them from where they are still gripping the blankets, tries to only focus on the movement and for a second the rest recedes. Not entirely, not very much and he knows it’s not going to work for very long, but he uses the momentary peace to remember that he’s safe in his own bed, in his own room, in the Bunker. He draws his blankets closer around himself to ward off the bone deep cold gnawing at him, trying to ignore the way his skin crawls at even the slightly increased pressure resting on top of him. But his heart keeps racing and so after a few moments he kicks the blankets off again, the movement unlocking his legs finally. He slowly sits up, leaning against his headboard, before he fumbles for his bedside table to switch on the light.</p><p>He closes his eyes, lets them adjust to the change in brightness and then carefully opens them, letting them wander through the room, searching for Cas. The silence should have been answer enough - Cas doesn’t sleep and whenever Sam had a nightmare before, he would be beside him, not touching or hovering, but simply getting a little bit closer to make sure Sam knew that he wasn’t alone, talking softly until Sam managed to center himself in reality again - but Sam can’t help the feeling of bitter disappointment that knots his stomach. It’s not like he could even stand Cas touch and it would be incredibly unfair to him to force him to watch Sam suffer, unable to help, but selfishly Sam wishes Cas would be here anyway. And sure, he could go to Dean, but Dean does not understand in the way Cas does (and how should he? He doesn’t know, never experienced Sam’s memories in the way Cas had). Also Cas always made for a good anchor in reality, feeling more real than Dean at times, because neither Lucifer nor his hallucinations had taken too much joy in faking him, unless it was to remind Sam that Cas had died because of him, another heap of guilt on the gigantic pile that buried Sam under it.</p><p>But Cas isn’t here and Lucifer isn’t either and so it’s up to Sam to pull himself out of this. He curls and uncurls his fingers, concentrating only on the movement, the feel of his comforter against his skin and the slightly uncomfortable dig of his bed’s headrest into his back. It’s not good enough to fully shake the nightmares, it never is, but it’s better than nothing. After taking a few deep breaths, hoping for his heart rate to finally slow and his fingers to stop trembling, Sam forces himself to get up. Maybe he can walk the anxiety off somehow. And either way he’s gotten a lot more sleep than he expected anyway and- A sudden suspicion crops up in his mind, freezing him mid-movement. He drifted off pretty fast yesterday… too fast actually. He reaches for the still half full tea cup and sniffs it, but whether its because of the overpowering Chai smell or because there is nothing else to smell, he can’t detect anything off about that. But when he carefully moves the cup directly beside the lamp however, he can see a thin white sheen on the bottom of the cup, slightly swirling around now that he disturbed the liquid. His stomach turns.</p><p>Terror turns into action faster than he expected, his heart rate quickly picking up again. For a second he hopes this is just another bad dream, but that seems unlikely. Clutching the cup with a hand that’s started to shake violently, he hurries out of his room and down the hall. He’s probably spilling cold tea as he goes, but he doesn’t care. Anger is surging through him as he hammers his fist against Dean’s closed bedroom door thrice, before throwing it open with a bang.</p><p>“What the hell where you thinking?” he growls as Dean sleepily blinks awake.</p><p>“Wha- Sammy? What’s going on?”</p><p>“What did you put in my tea?” Sam holds out the cup and the guilt that flashes over Dean’s face momentarily is enough to confirm Sam’s suspicions. The betrayal hurts, salt in an old festering wound.</p><p>Dean sits up and turns on his bedside lamp. For a moment Sam, expects a stupid joke like “Chai, Sammy, what else would I put in your tea?”, but Dean seems to be awake enough to notice the severity of the situation, so he shrinks down a bit.<br/>
“Okay, so this looks bad, but-” </p><p>“Does it, Dean? You drugging me looks bad?” Sam’s tired of Dean’s excuses and bullshit. Dean should know better.</p><p>“You needed the sleep”, Dean defends himself and that makes Sam even angrier.</p><p>“And you get to decide how I sleep now?” For a second Sam is tempted to bring up the nightmares and how much worse they were, most likely due to whatever Dean dosed him with, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want Dean to be able to downplay this now or later by convincing himself that Sam is acting irrationally, that there would be any circumstance under which this would be okay.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Sam. Cas said you had barely slept and since you didn’t let him heal you, he thought a good nights sleep would be the next best thing.”<br/>
Sam huffs. Dean phrasing it as if by refusing to be healed Sam was somehow asking to be dosed up leaves him speechless for a second, before it sinks in what Dean just said.</p><p>“Cas suggested this?” Dean doing this to him had felt like a betrayal, but at least he could somehow blame it on his weird over protectiveness and the fact that Dean still seemed to have a problem to see Sam as his own person and not the little kid he raised. But Cas… After everything he had thought Cas at least would understand what boundaries and his own personal autonomy mean to Sam and not do that to him. The fight drains out of him and leaves only an empty pit behind. “I’ll… I think I need some space to think. I’ll be back, but… Please don’t come after me right now.” His hands still tremble as he sets the cup on the table beside the door, the clatter of porcelain against wood as he tries and fails to put it down gently loud in the silence that suddenly enveloped the room. </p><p>He has to get out of here. Sam’s not in any condition to go on a run, the sharp pain that shoots through his chest as he turns around abruptly to leave reminder enough of that, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get the hell out of here. He can hear Dean start to say something, the shift of blankets as he tries to get up to follow or maybe just sit up, but it doesn’t manage to penetrate far through the thunder of his own heartbeat and Sam has no interest in calming down, focusing and listening Dean out. And then Sam is too far down the hallway for it to matter anyway.</p><p>He considers going back to his room to grab a warmer change of clothes, but decides against it. He’s going to have to shower later anyway and at the moment the thought of being in the bunker for even a moment longer is too much to stand (he only remembers flashes of walking down these halls when his body wasn’t his own but it’s already too much, too visceral and- No, he can’t go there right now), so after grabbing a jacket and his spare set of keys, he hurries outside. It’s still dark and the cold night air raises goosebumps on his exposed neck immediately. After zipping his jacket closed, he turns on the flashlight he grabbed before leaving. It’s relatively weak and only illuminates a small part of the ground in front of him, but for now, it’s enough.</p><p>Then he starts walking, turning off the main road at the first opportunity onto one of the first paths he explored after they moved here. While he had soon found out that there was another path that lead into the forest a bit further up the road and that it offered a much better route to run, looping wide enough that he could jog for up to an hour until he got back to the bunker, this one will do well for now.<br/>
He’s not regularly out at this time of night as it’s still too early for his normal running time, but shortly after moving here, he and Dean had decided it would be helpful to be acquainted with the terrain at various times of the day, so the chirping of the cicadas and the occasional crack of a twig snapping  under an animal’s foot can’t be at fault for the clammy feeling of his palms and the racing of his heart. With his vision closing in, Sam quickly reaches out for a tree on the side of the road to steady himself, trying to ride out a panic attack that is probably overdue.</p><p>His hand is sticky and he remembers holding out the tea cup, the tea he spilled drip-drip-dripping off his fingers like the blood in his dream and he hurriedly wipes it against his sweatpants, but then suddenly the little bit of calm he’s been holding onto slips away. The images of his dreams (and the reason they were so much worse was probably because Cas had <i>drugged</i> him) crash over him again like a wave. Sometimes talking about them with Cas helps, but now… Well, even if Cas was here there’s no way he could talk to him about it, not when Cas is also partially responsible for them. The emotional whiplash of waking up terrified and exhausted and alone, but knowing that it was something he could deal with, and then the gut punch of betrayal, something he wasn’t even sure how to begin to deal with, mixed with adrenaline makes him shake and he carefully lowers himself onto the ground, not wanting to face plant when his body finally drops. </p><p>The cold of the damp earth sinks through his sweatpants, causing other memories to rise to the forefront of his mind, when Lucifer would wrap his grace around Sam in the cage, leaving him immobile until hypothermia from the already low temperatures of the cage paired with Lucifer’s icy grace started to cause him to fade out, before a snap of Lucifer’s fingers would shock freeze him completely, capturing him in these last few moments of consciousness, only a tickle of grace remaining to keep him alive. And then he’d leave and there was just the cold and the dark and the complete inability to move for a long time until Sam would beg for any kind of release, until- No! Slamming his hands into the ground, letting the dampness of the forest ground pull him back to the present, Sam forces himself out of the spiral of thoughts. His breath is going fast and ragged and Sam digs his finger into his palm. It doesn’t really hurt and with the scar tissue healed ever since Gadreel’s possession there’s nothing for him to irritate, leaving only the dull pain of pressure and for a moment Sam toys with the idea of finding something to tear the wound open again, but there’s no way he could hide that from Dean and despite everything he doesn’t want to force his brother to see him self-harming. He’s not that fucked up. </p><p>For a moment he expects Lucifer’s icy breath at his ear, asking if he’s sure about that. After all Lucifer had a lot of time to break him. Maybe now his carefully structures facade of mental health would finally shatter, stretched too far once more. But there’s only silence, interrupted by his own heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves. </p><p>At the realization that there’s nothing he can do, not right now, all his energy saps out of him. The terror finally releases its grip on Sam, leaving him drained and exhausted and Sam slumps against the tree, pulling his knees to his chest. He wants to cry, but he’s not sure that he could stop himself from screaming, if he actually let any noise escape his mouth and despite the increased security of this forest area due to some sigils they affixed to various trees, he’s not sure if he could risk it. And then there’s the matter of his broken pride as well. Having a panic attack in the forest is bad enough. Screaming his head off during it… that’s a whole new level of fucked up.</p><p>So he stays frozen in the curled position, his mind tired and sluggish, memories still digging at the back of his consciousness, but not strong enough to break through the fog. Sam can tell that his body is starting to cramp, the cold becoming physically painful, but he doesn’t have the energy to move.</p><p>“Sam? Sam, please answer me if you can hear me, where are you?”</p><p>A voice slowly fades in, worming its way through the numbness that encompassed Sam. The voice is friendly, the voice is- it’s Cas.</p><p>“Cas”, Sam croaks, his voice breaking slightly and he forces himself to call out again, stronger this time. “Cas!”</p><p>Cas appears in the space between two trees so abruptly, that for a second Sam forgets that Cas lost his wings and must have run to get here. He’s unable to react to it in any other way than another weak “Cas” and despite his anger and the feeling of betrayal he can’t help but reach out weakly, his entire body feeling heavy like stone and he hates how desperate he is for any kind of touch to remind him that he isn’t back there. He knows he should feel anger, should feel mad and push Cas away for that, but he doesn’t have any energy right now.</p><p>Cas rushes up to him, hovers unsure for a moment until Sam nods and then gently places his hand on Sam’s knee. “Do you wanna talk or do you wanna go home?”</p><p>For a moment Sam wants to bring up the tea, but he knows that if he starts now, he won’t be able to get back to the Bunker in the near future and so he swallows the anger that’s trying to bubble up in him down. It’s not hard. The exhaustion is dampening it already, leaving only a small simmer that gnaws uncomfortably at his inside.</p><p>“I need to get back to the Bunker”, he says instead of anything else, the words shaky on his tongue and Cas at least seems to understand that he fucked up, because he doesn’t press harder, simply reaches out and lifts Sam to his feet and then letting him lean on him, his arm wrapped around his side to hold him up, he starts leading him down the path. By now Sam is so cold he doesn’t even really feel the difference between himself and Cas anymore.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As you might have noticed my update schedule has slowed down quite a bit since the beginning. Since this fanfiction is not yet entirely finished, I have decided to now upload new chapters weekly, hopefully giving me enough time to keep up with what I have planned even with university and other commitments. I hope you'll still be interested.<br/>I wanted to say thank you for the comments again.<br/>TW: mentions of drugging, throwing up, and a lot of confronting conversation, but all in all, this is a very tame chapter (bc it's time to gently lull Sam into a sense of security)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With Cas’ support getting to the Bunker is quite easy and as they walk Sam can feel himself regain a little bit of his strength. After Cas fumbles the Bunker door open, he carefully disentangles from the angel and passes through the door ahead of him. He sees Cas pull a phone from his trench coat pocket, possibly to alert Dean that he found Sam. He should have known that Dean wouldn’t let him just run off on his own. But he noticed that the darkness has started to get a lot brighter, so he probably at least allowed him some time on his own. Sam isn’t quite sure how much time passed, not with the flashbacks and the numbness (or disassociation as it was called in one of the many google searches he made while trying to find ways to make it more bearable). </p><p>He takes a deep breath as he sets his foot on the top step. He knows that if he wants to voice his opinion about this, it’s now or… well, not necessarily never, but later and Sam doesn’t think he can pretend for one second longer that he’s okay with any of this. He’s either going to sink further into the fog, stumbling blindly through until more memories resurface and tear him to shreds, or he’s going to blow up hysterically. Neither option sounds appealing.</p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p>He’s not looking at Cas, but the rustle of his dress shirt betrays a sudden movement. (Did he take a step back in surprise? Or did he hunch down, heart heavy with guilt? Sam doesn’t care to analyze it right now.) “I’ll wait in the hall.”</p><p>He quickly clambers down the stairs, not wanting his strength to dissolve again and he hopes Cas follows. When he reaches the big table in the main hall, he hesitates for a second. It isn’t like they never use it, but it’s rare, with the kitchen and the library and their own rooms having become their go-to meeting places, offering comfort through familiarity or privacy, but he doesn’t think he has to strength to go any further. Sam grabs one of the chairs and sits down, turning so that he can see Cas stepping down the last stair, following him a bit slower than he normally would. He seems unsure what to expect and if Sam had any energy left he’s not sure if it would make him feel hope or rage.</p><p>Sam waits until Cas takes a seat at the table opposite him and after taking another deep breath, the only word he manages to utter is “Why?” Cas at least has the decency not to try to deflect, his face darkening with shame or guilt. “And don’t start with <i>‘you needed your sleep’</i> or any of that. I don’t want to hear any more excuses. I want to know why you didn’t just ask?”</p><p>Cas breaks eye contact, averting his gaze and when he lifts his head again, something is glistening in the corners of his eyes. His voice is slightly shaky as he replies: “I felt ashamed. Not that that’s an excuse, but… I know you noticed that there’s something wrong with my grace right now and I know that’s at least part of the reason why you can’t allow me to touch you. And I didn’t want you to feel pressured to accept my help to heal you if you’re not ready for it. And you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest at all. I know I should have asked you, but… at the moment it felt like the best solution. Except it was wrong and I see that now. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Sam nods, feeling slightly appeased by the explanation (of course Cas had tried to do good. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up. Sam had known that, but hearing it said out loud helps something unknot in his chest). “You’re right, you should have just asked me. Whatever you used put me to sleep, but… it wasn’t in any way restful.” Now, in this moment, he feels more than ready to offer up an explanation of why he blew up. He’s calm and collected after all. No one will be able to claim he’s being anything but rational.</p><p>Cas jerks back, probably not having considered that this could have happened and again he drops his gaze. The last mimic Sam can make out is a twitching of the corners of his mouth, before Cas lets out a trembling breath. For a second he wishes he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t mentioned the nightmares at all (he would have had them anyway, after all. Of course, the ones tonight had been extraordinarily bad and the medication had prevented him from jolting awake screaming each time, but he would have dreamed of the cage even without it, there was no doubt about that.) </p><p>Sam reaches out, slides his hand across the table and raps his knuckles against the wood, waiting for Cas to meet his gaze. “Just… you know… don’t do it again.”</p><p>Cas nods and finally looks up again. His voice breaks as he answers. “I won’t, I promise.”</p><p>The tension in the room is still thick enough to cut, but Sam feels a little bit less heavy. There’s just one more question nagging at him, before he can allow himself to sink into the exhaustion that’s dragging at him now that this has been cleared. “Where did you go? While I slept?” He can’t help the short pause before he manages to get the verb out and he sees Cas flinch slightly. It makes him want to apologize, but before he can, Cas is already answering.</p><p>“I tried to distract myself with a walk, but with Amara still out there, the dark was… unsettling. So instead I went to the library to see if something could help me make sense of what happened. The Men of Letters don’t have a lot, or any, actual knowledge about the cage, but I hoped I might still be able to find maybe something that could explain my grace. A few texts considered the idea that very strong wardings can affect a creature that does not entirely fall under the exact criteria of the spells even after they escape from its clutches. It’s possible that my prolonged exposure to the cage’s safety measures are why my grace is the way it is. Rowena might be able to tell us more with The Book Of The Damned, but I don’t think they would take kindly to us calling them right now. I also figured out I can use my grace without it bothering me.”</p><p>Cas’ explanation makes sense and the idea of not having to pile another problem on their plate is tempting, but there’s still one last thing that’s bothering Sam about this. “How can you be so calm? You already lost your grace once before and I know you weren’t okay with that. At all”, he blurts out, immediately realizing it sounds accusatory. When he continues, he makes sure his voice is calmer and softer: “Just because I’m struggling with having been to the cage again, and I am, don’t get me wrong, it’s hard, that doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re fine. I just want you to know, that if you need help, or if you need to talk, I’m here for you too. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” </p><p>For just a second Cas looks stunned and it sends a pang through Sam’s heart. He knows he hasn’t always been the best at treating Cas like an autonomous person with complex feelings, but he had hoped he managed to fix that in the past years, particularly since Cas has fallen. Still with the world semi-ending every six months or so, it’s not like any of them have had much time to work on their conversation skills. </p><p>“Oh, Sam… That’s so kind of you. And thank you for the offer. But… I’m really not that worried about my grace, at least not at the moment. I don’t know how to best explain it, except that I have a feeling that it’s gonna be fine. It’s not like with Rowena’s spell and not even comparable to when Metatron ripped my grace out. I feel fine. While on my walk, I tried to test my limits a little bit, and it didn’t feel any different, besides the fact that it seems… cold. Maybe there’s something wrong with how I channel it, but the effects of what I wanted to use it for seem to be the same as before. But if anything changes, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.” Cas actually smiles softly, his gaze warm and loving and Sam can’t help but feel comforted under it.</p><p>“That’s… Cas, that’s really good to hear. I’m really glad.” As Sam’s worries slowly dissolve, he can feel himself relax. Through the fog of emotional fatigue he can feel a sliver of gratitude and happiness. This went a lot better than he expected. “Thank you. For hearing me out. And for being here.” For a moment silence settles during which Sam just lets out a relieved breath. The world may throw one apocalypse after the other at them, but at least they can lean onto each other. “I’d… grab some food now. Would you wanna join me in the kitchen?”</p><p>Cas nods and gets up as well, following behind Sam as he makes his way down the hallway.</p><p>As fate or whichever cruel god that orchestrated his life would have it, Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, a place with half a fried egg on toast beside him. He gives a tense nod when he sees Sam, quickly taking in the way Sam and Cas enter and then relaxes slightly.</p><p>“Morning. I got in through the garage just now, didn’t want to disturb you, so I got some grub.” There’s another beat of silence, during which Sam walks further into the room, angling towards the kitchen. “You think you’re up for some breakfast?” Dean asks, clearly hopeful to get something to do. Sam nods, accepting Dean’s peace offering for what it is and while Dean jumps up, lets his steps lead him towards the table. “Do you think you could handle an omelet with veggies or would you rather just have a fried egg?” Dean asks, while he busies himself taking various things from the fridge and setting the pan on the stove. His tone is light, but even the choice of offered food reveals that he is worried for Sam (after one too many hurried races to the bathroom at the sound and smell of sizzling bacon, Dean had learned to let Sam determine if he felt up for it himself. It had gotten better in recent years, Sam nearly always able to mention that he would like some bacon, but today even the short thought of it makes his stomach clench).</p><p>“A fried egg sounds great. Over-medium please.” He normally prefers his fried eggs sunny side up, but he’s not sure he could stomach a runny yolk right now. Dean nods curtly and gets to work.</p><p>“Cas, anything for you?” Dean offers, more courtesy than anything. Cas rarely enjoys the process of eating, especially if it’s something he’s already tasted and judged unsatisfactory and as expected he shakes his head. Soon after the egg is sizzling in the pan and the bread is in the toaster and an awkward silence settles over the kitchen. Dean is clearly debating saying something, his eyes flitting around the kitchen and over to Sam’s place at the table repeatedly. But before Sam can urge him to spit it out, Dean finally asks: “Tea or coffee? Or something else? We… uh we might have some honey? If you want hot milk? Or just some water? Juice?” As he speaks Dean turns in the kitchen, pointing at various places and Sam can’t fight down a small chuckle.</p><p>“Coffee is fine”, he says quickly, worried that if his still clearly hungover brother continues spinning around the kitchen it will end in a mess.</p><p>Dean relaxes slightly at that. Before he can make a grab for the coffee though, Cas has grabbed the already prepared can and is carrying it to the table with a cup. If Sam’s physical condition was any better, he would call them out on their groveling behavior, but as it stands getting breakfast and coffee without having to get up himself is probably the best solution to their current problems.</p><p>Cradling the coffee cup in his hands, Sam doesn’t have to wait long until Dean pushes a plate in front of Sam. “Thank you”, he says, meeting Dean’s apologetic gaze. </p><p>“So you two talked?” Dean begins as soon as he’s sitting, his body language clearly telegraphing slight discomfort at bringing this up now.</p><p>Sam nods and although he would prefer to just recede to the library and bury everything else under a pile of frenzied research, he knows that Dean wanting to talk is rare enough as it is and the fact that he’s gotten it two times in a row now, means he has to make the most out of it. Plus, he wants to clarify this once and for all. “Yeah, we did. And just because I’m not longer freaking out doesn’t mean I think that what he did… what you helped him do is okay. It wasn’t. Never do it again. I know you and I get that your intentions were good and you found a hundred different ways to justify it, but… You shouldn’t have. I just need you to know and to understand that.”</p><p>Dean nods eagerly. “That’s… that’s better than I expected honestly. I know this isn’t gonna change anything, but I’m sorry. And I swear, I won’t do it again.”</p><p>Sam smiles tensely, still too mentally numb to show more emotion, but when Dean relaxes slightly, he knows that Dean understands. Then Sam finally takes a first bite of his food. He knows Dean is a good cook and this is no exception. It’s great, just cooked enough not to trigger memories by being slimy, but not to be chewy either. “It’s good”, he says, indicating the plate with his fork. Dean grins and picks up his own half eaten toast again to take a bite himself. His look of disgust as he bites into the by now cooled egg is an exaggerated grimace and Sam can’t  help a weary sigh escaping him. It makes Dean grin again and on his second bite he seems to be prepared for the congealed texture.</p><p>As they eat a calmer quiet settles over the kitchen and Sam can feel his thoughts drift to the problem at hand. He’s not going to be able to find anything about Amara, they’ve looked too long for that already, but maybe he can help Cas find something concerning his grace. And maybe spending some hours in the library, digging into books, keeping his mind busy, will help him. At least it will give him something to do until he can claw his way out of his fatigue or until he feels secure enough to attempt to try to sleep again.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back to my story. It's been a while. But I wanted to say thank you for the comments and for reading and I hope you still enjoy this chapter!</p><p>TW: nightmare, implications of sexual abuse, sexist slurs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days pass slowly and painstakingly dull. Sam isn’t sure if it is because he started obsessively checking clocks (a habit he picked up after Gadreel, now returning full force to the point where Sam finds himself glancing at his wrist watch every couple minutes, making sure his internal clock fits at least mostly with the actual time, ignoring the way Cas would stare at him when he rustled the page he was reading as he shifts again) or because they don’t find a single useful thing, not about grace and as expected not a speck of useful information about Amara. Dean joins them regularly, reading through his pile in spurts of desperation, before agitation forces him up again, the intensity with which he is trying to stop Amara growing by the day. Sam can see that something is eating at Dean, but when he had asked about it, Dean had just sighed and said that since he had been the one to release the mark, he felt it was his duty to save the world. Sam could understand that feeling, knew that that responsibility - even if it wasn’t yours alone to carry - could weigh you down like cement poured around your feet, and so he had left his brother to try and chase whatever lead he could find, even though his desperation scared him at times. When Dean grew frustrated by the fruitless research, he had taken to polishing every vehicle in the Bunker’s garage and the kitchen, albeit already kept in great conditions, was now meticulously clean. None of their outside sources managed to find them any leads on Amara, who seems to be keeping a low profile since her last massacre, either. </p><p>But the research gives Sam something to do, something to direct his thoughts at instead of simply sitting there and thinking - about the way that the world is ending again, about the fact that fast movements, especially those only visible in the corners of his eyes, cause him to flinch, his mind jumping to the worst possible solution at any problem and of course, the ever persistent memories - so sometimes after they officially ended their research for the day, Sam finds himself returning to the library, reading even though his eyes already burn, continuing until his sight grows blurry, until Dean or Cas, who has taken to wander the Bunker at night, find him and direct him to bed. The nightmares are still waiting for him whenever he closes his eyes and Cas is still cold. But Cas was staying in one of the guest rooms now, passing time there, while Sam tried to sleep, so Sam couldn’t even blame it on the constant low-level trigger of ice creeping through his veins. It was a decision neither of them had come to easily, Sam not wanting to kick Cas out of the space they had shared for a while now and Cas clearly not wanting to leave Sam alone, but also unable to watch him struggle. But then Cas had claimed he could easier do more research in another adjacent room, give Sam some space and still be there for him if Sam needed him. While Sam had been not particularly excited about this development - mainly because of the guilt that had raced through him, Cas tried so hard to be there for him, it was unfair that Sam couldn’t allow him to help - he had to admit that it was the best solution they had at the moment. Sam’s sleep pattern had slightly improved after, but the memories were simply too strong to be completely blocked off. At least it hadn’t ever gotten as bad again as during the first night and while they didn’t bring it up again, Sam knew they still felt bad about it. If he wanted he knew he could have also easily leveraged it - maybe as a get out of laundry forever card, Sam thought after waking up from another dream and feeling stupidly relieved that he could wake up whenever his body permitted now - but he just felt relieved that nothing new added to the stress that wouldn’t stop vibrating through his body, sapping energy reserves he hadn’t thought he could even access. Thankfully Dean’s mother-henning and stress-cooking keep Sam from having to worry about eating too much and even though their diet had obviously changed, Dean . He swallows down the nagging feeling at how much he relies on Dean for basic needs, but he takes care to thank Dean and tries to pick up as many other chores as possible. </p><p>It’s exhaustingly quiet and then finally it isn’t anymore. Dean grows too restless to spend another day without working and finds a case close to home. Cas wants to stay home, saying he will try and sort through the archives to see if maybe the Men of Letters have some magical items stored away that can help them, one that they maybe haven’t cataloged yet or maybe something that was unknown to them. He promises to be careful about the various cursed items and assures them that he’ll most likely be able to sense and avoid anything that can be dangerous to him as an angel. He also promises to check in and since he does so regularly, Sam isn’t as worried as he might have otherwise been. And maybe a little bit of space will also be good for all of them. Cas likes to stay with them, he offered himself after all, but a little bit of breathing room, especially after days of being around each other has to be positive. Sam enjoys getting out of the house as well, it’s a vast improvement to the walks he’s been going on the past days, and saving people is always a good bonus. Meeting Eileen is also a pleasant surprise and Sam finds himself unexpectedly excited to improve his rudimentary grasp of sign language, even though he’s not sure he’ll ever see her again - she is a capable hunter in her own right after all and even though getting more hands on deck is always helpful, it rarely ends well for the other people involved. But it will at least give him something else to do instead of just growing more and more frustrated about another invincible-seeming foe that they have no idea how to stop, treading water on the research front. When they return, Cas hasn’t found anything helpful in the archives and he’s still as cold as the day they left the cage, despite his claims that he’s feeling a lot better with each passing day. </p><p>Something about Dean seems to have relaxed a bit as well, there’s a gratitude in his eyes sometimes when he looks at Cas and Sam would guess that they’ve talked about whatever it is that’s been bothering Dean at some point at least. It makes living in the Bunker easier. The tension never fully leaves, but in their own messed up way Sam’s feeling like they are starting to slip into a routine again. They still send most of the hunts they catch wind off on to other hunters, but it’s clear they’ve not completely given up on some normal hunting either and so besides his regular research Sam makes sure to keep track off all the alerts he’s set on his laptop, setting aside some time each day to make sure there’s not anything grizzly they are missing right in front of their doorsteps. </p><p>Then, not too long after the Banshee hunt, Cas takes off from the Bunker to connect with some outside sources that he found out about during his research, trying to track down other leads since it seems unlikely that books will give them the answer they are actually searching for. Cas still calls regularly and even though Sam tries not to make it too obvious, there’s a part of him that feels relieved about the change. When he’s talking to Cas on the phone, he can ignore the cold that emanates from him, can ignore the way it pulls him back to another angel, to another place and if it wasn’t for the slight awkwardness that still permeates all of their interactions - Sam tongue-tied and fatigued, his emotions still tightly shut down and Cas frustrated with his lack of progress, an edge to his voice whenever they talk even when he tries to be kind - it would feel like any other hunt. Of course it isn’t any other hunt and besides their relationship the whole world relies on the outcome of those excursions, but Sam had forgotten how good it could feel to talk to Cas when the angel’s blue eyes didn’t seem to be cataloging his every move, as if he had the label “fragile, handle with care” printed all over him and could shatter at any moment. </p><p>And then, finally, Cas calls, his voice excited as he blurts out a “Sam, I have great news!”, the enthusiasm immediately making Sam feel alert, even though he had just been about to try and go to bed, having just returned from a short run to burn out some of his energy. “I found a witch and she managed to fix my grace. From what I can tell it feels normal again. I’m on my way home now!”</p><p>For a moment Sam’s unable to answer, the information only slowly sinking in, leaving him stunned. “How? And how are you feeling?”</p><p>“She said there was some weird blockage in my grace? Something about chakras, but not in the yogi way. She burned some herbs, did some acupressure and suddenly I felt something open. My grace feels completely normal again and from her startled reaction I think my body temperature is normal again. I… did give her all of the money I had taken from the gambling stash as a thank you, though.”</p><p>Cas sounds a little bit apologetic as he says so and Sam feels a chuckle burst free from him. “Well, you’re gonna have to take that one up with Dean. But I’m really glad to hear that. Should I wait up for you?”</p><p>Cas laughs, the sound more carefree than Sam has heard him in a while. “No, don’t worry. I’m still going to take a while until I’m home. But I should get back sometime next morning. I hope you sleep well.”</p><p>For the first time in quite some time Sam allows himself to feel hope. Maybe, just maybe, things will go right for once.</p><p>As if his brain wants to prove him wrong, he spends the time when he finally manages to drop off running from or towards something, maybe both at the same time, his steps leading him away and close to the same thing. (If you had just said yes to me, there would be none of this stupid cat-and-mouse chase now. Not that I mind a challenge, but come on, Sammy, we both know how this is going to end.) A cold hand runs down his back, tickling over his ribs (maybe I should peel off the annoying flesh here, change the Enochian to something more fitting, like Satan’s Good Little Bitch so everyone knows you’re mine), fingernails sharp as knives digging into his flesh, carefully carving and then somehow, mercifully, Sam is running again, down endless hallways - they look so much like the Bunker’s walls sometimes, but they are endless,  and Sam knows he’s trapped, trapped, trapped - until there’s a flash of beige, Cas turning around a corner ahead of him and Sam follows. At least with Cas he won’t have to go through this alone again. He manages to catch up to him soon and Cas turns around, a grin on his face and then his eyes flash red and Sam runs straight into Lucifer’s embrace (Missed you too, bunk buddy).</p><p>When he finally wakes up, it’s to a knock on his bedroom door. “Sam? Are you awake? It sounds like you’re having a nightmare.”</p><p>Cas’s voice is muffled by the still closed door and Sam carefully sits up, head still swimming from the nightmare. “I’m awake now. Uh, come in.” He’s struggling to shake the images off, but then he remembers why Cas had called him yesterday and euphoria pulses through him, helping him ground himself in the present. Maybe if Cas is okay, it’ll be easier for them to somehow fix the whole Amara business as well, because Sam will be able to focus more easily and they can actually stand against her as a united unit again. And of course, he missed Cas.</p><p>As Cas steps through the door, Sam braces against the breath of ice that normally follows him where ever he goes, but there’s none of that. With ever step Cas walks closer to his bed, Sam expects the cold to creep up on him, make him even tenser than he already is, but even when Cas stops far enough from the bed to not hover, but close enough that both of them would just have to reach out to touch the other, it’s still warm and cozy. “Cas… I think it worked!” Sam can feel a grin spread over his face and he finally is able to truly meet Cas’ gaze again, able to turn his entire body towards him as he swings his feet out from under the blanket. His nightmare, as unsettling as it had been, had probably just one last burst of anxiety, his mind unable to accept the tender hope the call had given him without the proof that was now presented in front of him. </p><p>Without thinking he gets up and draws Cas into a hug. For a second Cas seems startled, but then he melts into the embrace, hugging Sam back. “It’s so good to have you back”, he mumbles, his cheek resting against Cas’ head and he draws in a deep breath, reveling in the fact that it no longer feels like he’s gasping for breath in a snow storm. A strong herbal scent floods his senses, possible remnants from whatever the witch had used and Sam presses a soft kiss on Cas’ head as happiness courses through him.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi and welcome back to a new chapter. I'm again really thankful for some of your comments and support.<br/>Since it's Sam's birthday today, I will gift him some... terrible, terrible trauma (and you an one day early update!). It's a present given with love.<br/>We are getting preeetty close to the end as well and I wanted to thank you again for coming on this journey with me. This is the first fic that I was still writing on while updating and it... was an experience. I think I learned some, but I also had a lot of fun. But this is not quite the end, so I will stop rambling.<br/>Happy birthday to our favorite birthday boy again!</p><p>TW: sexual content (not explicit, I do love fade outs - mainly it's just kissing, but there's Implications!), non-consensual sexual content (due to the nature of everything in this fanfic), nature documentary based description of animal death used as excessive metaphors</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Cas leaves his room, saying that he wants to give Sam his space to process all of this, to try and sleep a little bit longer, Sam had laid back down, the constant doubts warring with his need to cling to any positive news right now. But despite how sure as Cas seemed that the witch hadn’t done anything that can hurt him, even in the long run, Sam simply can’t afford to believe that everything’s okay and be wrong again. He promises himself to watch Cas extra careful and ask him regularly how he’s feeling. </p><p>As wonderful as it is to be able to touch Cas without shivers running down his spine and memories crowding in on him, Sam does not believe that this comes without a price for them. Just because they don’t know it yet, doesn’t mean it’s not yet there and knowing their luck it will be payed in pain.</p><p>Perhaps fitting with his dark though spiral before he drifts off, Sam dreams again, this time about drowning in blood, sticky and thick as it layers over him, the tang of sweet copper on his lips. It probably hadn’t helped that the smell of herbs lingered in his room and clothes as well, giving extra reality to his dream, the smell sick and cloying.</p><p>When Sam finally gets up, it’s relatively late, his body wrestling as much sleep from him as it can now that some of his anxiety finally dissipated. It wasn’t a particularly restful night, but compared with the sleep he got other days, Sam can’t help but feel grateful. </p><p>He grabs his clothes and hurries to the shower, feeling slightly off center by the fact that he slept for so long. It wasn’t unwelcome, but he’s used to get up earlier and it feels a bit weird.</p><p>After he’s done with his morning hygiene and grabbed one of the pancakes Dean left out on the kitchen counter for him, he finds Dean and Cas in the library. Dean gives him a relatively big smile he walks in, clearly relieved over their breakthrough. Sam lets himself sink down on a chair beside Cas and opposite of Dean. He notices with satisfaction that Dean has different books on his table than normally, books about possible side effects of magic and by Cas’ small indignant huff when Sam reaches to grab one of them, it’s clear that Dean has already grilled him about his cure. </p><p>“Sam, as I said my grace is normal again and this was not a spell that influenced my will either. It was a very tame kind of magic, simply something I hadn’t considered myself before. It is… very kind of you to be worried for me, but I think we could all spend our time in a better and more effective manner.” Cas is tense beside him and before Sam can retort anything, Cas continues. “I know that neither of us had the best interactions with witches in the past, but I made sure she was one of the better ones. She wasn’t particularly strong, definitely no natural witch, but she was very dedicated to her craft. And I checked that she hadn’t received her powers from a deal, so… if you’re worried about demonic involvement, I can assure you that I won’t make that mistake again.”</p><p>The callback to when Cas worked with Crowley shakes Sam a bit, the thought that Cas could be working with demons again as he had when he opened purgatory not having crossed his mind at all. But it’s clear that Cas had been worried about that, or at least worried that they would think that was what he’s doing. Maybe that was why he had been so quiet about his research, afraid that they would misconstrue what he was doing and hold it against him. Sam couldn’t blame him. They’ve all made mistakes in the past, but it isn’t fair to constantly remind someone of them, especially when they were trying their hardest to move forward.</p><p>“That… Cas, that’s not what I’m worried about. I know you wouldn’t do that again. I just… I’m worried. It’s… rare that anything good happens for us without it costing us in the long run. But if you say you’re fine, then I’ll believe you and I won’t bother you, okay?”</p><p>He can feel Cas relax and a small smile appears on his face, the darkness that shrouded his face lifting. “Thank you. And don’t worry, if I think anything is wrong with this, I will tell you. I know I should has asked before, but I didn’t want to bring your hopes up, that’s why I waited. But I’m pretty sure it’s okay.”</p><p>Sam locks eyes with Dean, who only gives a small shrug, clearly already having had a similar conversation with Cas before Sam joined them. Sam clears his throat, not wanting to upset Cas further by continuing this. Cas has earned that trust.</p><p>“Okay then… let’s see if we have anything to stop Amara, right?” Even though they all know it’s pretty much futile, more busywork than any actual research (although Sam makes multiple notes about any new text he starts, preparing it for later indexing to maybe help them with future hunts) and they sink into comfortable quiet only disturbed by the rustling of a page.</p><p>Now able to sit beside Cas and relax into it, Sam notices how he drifts closer and closer, shuffling on his chair to shorten the distance between them and he can see Cas lean into him as well. It’s so much nice than before. If Dean notices, he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a glint in his eyes when he finally leaves, claiming he has some cleaning to do, that tells Sam that he very much saw something.</p><p>At the end of the day, they hadn’t found anything new. Dean had gone to bed early tonight, a bottle of whiskey that Cas had brought with him from his trip disappearing with him. Since Cas would be able to heal any acquired liver damage if needed, Sam had decided not to bother him about it today. As happy and relieved as Dean had seemed that everything was better with the two of them again, fixing another problem left them with only Amara to focus on. Sam couldn’t blame Dean for needing a night where he didn’t have to think about that, knew he himself hadn’t coped much better after he had released Lucifer.</p><p>After they put all the books away, ending their late research fully, Sam knows he should just tell Cas goodnight and go to his own room, but he finds it hard to simply turn away. Despite also being focused on his research, Cas had carefully watched Sam, judge him how he reacted to him now and without the cold, it had gotten a lot better. And Sam isn’t quite ready to give that rekindled closeness up just yet. He knew he had missed it, had always missed Cas when he went out on a longer mission without them, leaving the Bunker for a prolonged period of time, but now that Cas was so close and yet so far, it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been a lot harder.</p><p>Most importantly, he knows that if he misjudges himself and realizes that it’s too much, Cas will be able to take it and return to the other room. Hope flutters in his chest and he takes a nervous breath, realizing how awkward it is to ask this (it’s not like he’s a teenager or on his first date after all. This is nothing new. And yet-), but then the words spurt out anyway. “I was wondering if… I mean only if it’s okay for you… would you… do you mind if… do you wanna stay in my room tonight?” (Yup, definitely hormonal teenager. His palms are sweat slick and he has to remind himself that this doesn’t mean that anything big will happen anyway. But maybe they can watch a movie, relax together, celebrate this little victory.)</p><p>Cas is quiet, clearly shocked at Sam’s proposal. Then a grin breaks out over his face. “If you think it would be okay for you… I  would love to.” The angel looks so relieved and more excited than he has in a while and Sam can feel his heart rate pick up. Well… maybe if it still felt okay later after they are in Sam’s room, he would be fine to kiss him again. The thought makes his heart rate pick up, but the pleasant excitement is definitely stronger than the anxious fear.</p><p>He stretches his hand out, waits for Cas to grab hold of it, his body warm and comfortable beside him and then Sam is leading him down the hallway and into his bedroom. He hasn’t changed his sheets the past few days, not really caring about the comfort it would provide, since he didn’t actually care about sleeping and he notices the tangy smell of old sweat as he steps inside his room. Cas doesn’t seem to care, but Sam falters in his step. </p><p>Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this will be too much too fast, and it obviously hasn’t been thought through. Maybe he could just ask Cas to wait outside while he changes the sheets or-. Cas turns towards him, his gaze filled with compassion. “We can also go to my room if you want.”</p><p>And Sam’s not sure if that would be better. The room that Cas picked is non-descriptive, devoid of anything, but himself, whenever he stays in it and it would just feel weird. So he shakes his head.</p><p>“Could you give me a minute though? I… I kinda would like to clean up a bit before?”</p><p>Cas nods, moving to lean against the wall, but before Sam can turn away to start the tedious work of changing the sheets, he shrugs. “Or I could take care of that for you?”</p><p>It’s said nonchalantly, but Sam knows what Cas is offering. Ever since he returned from the cave, Cas has stopped using his grace, if not completely at least in any kind of vicinity to Sam. Sam hesitates and considers it for a second. It could mess everything up, it’s use triggering Sam and ending their attempt at closeness much too early. But if it’s alright, Sam knows it would not only help Cas feel more confident again, but he thinks it might help him relax as well. The decision is easy after that. He steps aside and gestures to the bed. “I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”</p><p>Cas steps up to the foot of the bed, turning his back to Sam and then there’s only the rustle of the trench coat as Cas lifts his hands, followed by a shimmer of light. Sam braces, but there’s not even a cool breeze, only the glare of grace, before Cas turns around and smiles. “All done. Wasn’t there this new documentary about the amazon rain forest coming up soon?” There’s a sly glint in his eyes as he gestures to Sam’s bed, causing Sam to roll his eyes.</p><p>He had all but forgotten about it with everything that happened, but it had been something he had secretly been looking forward too and he was sure that Cas knows that. He enjoys Cas’ perspective on the documentaries, who likes talking about the creation process, having been there in quite a few cases to watch God’s work. He settles down on the bed and scoots over before Cas can even think about dragging the chair to his bedside. It’s fine, he’s fine and before all of this they always shared a bed. It will be fine, Sam repeats to himself as he pats the empty space. “Wanna join me?”</p><p>Cas’ eyes lighten up and after shucking his trench coat, suit jacket and tie and hanging it over the chair, he settles down next to Sam. Sam grabs the remote and after a little bit of searching he’s found the right documentary and presses play. He settles into a more comfortable position, back leaning against the headrest. The mattress shifts as Cas does the same and Sam knows he’s hyper aware of how close Cas is beside him, noticing the few inches that just got erased between them with the movement. </p><p>Cas seems to be into the documentary, making short comments about the creation and subsequent evolution of this and that, and Sam can feel himself relax further. While he knows he’s certainly not paying the amount of attention to the documentary it deserves, he also can’t stop focusing on Cas beside him. Sometimes he shuffles that minuscule amount closer, another time Cas shifts just so, slowly picking away at the space between them until Cas is nearly flush beside him, his hand resting on his own thigh. By now the movie has moved on from it’s overview of the wildlife to various plants. </p><p>The screen cuts to the lid of a pitcher plant featuring an ant slowly climbing up the outside, attracted by the delicious smell. When it reaches the circular lip, it leans forward, the closeup showing its twitching antennas just before it looses its grip and tumbles into the plant, dropping into the water collected at the bottom. The soothing voice of the presenter is underlain with the high pitched hum of violins to express the urgency of the ant’s fruitless attempts at climbing out of the plant. </p><p>Cas leans closer to Sam, waiting for a pause in the presenters explanations about how the downward—directed hairs slowly inch the insect closer to the point where it will fall, that even flying insects get stuck in there and that the sweet nectar that it was looking for contains toxins that cause the insect to get drowsy and tumble to its death. His breath is warm against Sam’s ears, a waft of the same herbs still on it as he explains that many pitcher plants also have an waxy coating on their walls, making them even more inescapable, that even if an insect manages to free itself from the small pool before it drowns it can’t get any purchase on the wall, their legs sliding of again and again, no matter how hard they try. Instead of simply drowning those unlucky ones starve to death, raging against their inevitable demise.</p><p>Then the scene changes, monkeys flipping through the undergrowth, but Cas doesn’t move away, his face now hovering only inches from Sam’s ear. And maybe despite or even because of the unsettling scene that just played out on screen in front of him, Sam turns his head as well, Cas’ warm breath traveling from his ear to his cheek to his lips and then he’s bridging the distance, carefully and slowly until their noses touch. His hand is fumbling for the remote behind him, turning down the volume as the monkeys screech and he tilts his head and then, finally, he’s kissing Cas.</p><p>Despite their sometimes chapped appearance his lips are soft and Cas is warm and Cas is gentle and Cas kisses him back, carefully so as to not startle Sam. It’s like a dance, but their bodies know the necessary moves and Sam brings his hand up, cradles Cas’ neck to pull him closer, turns his upper body more towards him and shifts his legs. He can feel Cas do the same and soon they are full on making out. It leaves Sam feeling breathless, the sensations more intense than he remembered, the slow thrum of anxiety covered by the way this makes heat pool in his stomach.</p><p>Cas has also lifted his hand, using it to cradle his cheek and Sam can feel himself melt into the touch. He reaches up as well, pops the top button of Cas’ shirt, needs to feel more of his warm body against his own, then he hesitates. Cas pulls back slightly and gives him an enthusiastic nod and that decides it for Sam. He returns both his hands to the task, hunger urging him on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're interested in the documentary scene that I watched to get most of my purple pitcher plant tv screen vibes from it's this one (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CP1i0UKvb8). If you skip past the first minute, that's where the scene I used as inspo starts. The music used to underline the scenes is honestly *chef's kiss*. I felt like I was watching a very weird horror movie and I like that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we're at the last chapter! Again thank you all so much for your comments, it was really amazing to see all your reactions to my writing and getting to see which beats of the story stuck with you really meant a lot to me.<br/>Now it's time for the big reveal.</p><p>TW: torture, drug mention, victim blaming, soul fisting, slight allusions to sexual abuse, mentions of past rape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After that night, Cas stays in Sam’s room and while they don’t have sex again, Cas sits in the chair beside the bed or stretches out beside Sam, his fingers carding through Sam’s hair as he sleeps, the soft hum of the TV a steady undertone most of the time. Sam’s nightmares have gotten less as well, but more importantly they have changed, featuring more darkness and suffocation than ice and the sensation of being torn apart. </p><p>Amara isn’t just intruding his dreams though, by now her influence on their regular lives is unavoidable. There’s another hunt during which Dean admits that his deepest, darkest desire (at least according to the Qareen) was Amara and Sam can see the shame on his brother’s face as he unveils the secret that’s been eating at him. Sam tries to reassure him that that does not make him in any way responsible for what Amara is doing, that it is not something he can control, but even when it would probably help to share a little bit of his own experience in the field, he doesn’t. (After all it wasn’t like he had always been unwilling in the cage. Sometimes having his flesh peeled of his bones was preferable to even another minute blinded, deafened and alone - never mute though. Lucifer liked his voice - exposed to whatever counted as the elements in the Cage, his entire body aching for a touch and perhaps more importantly the short relief that his momentary death would bring. Sometimes he had begged Lucifer for anything else than the torture of a small hammer beating hair fractures along his spine, the little vibrations running through his entire body until the bone finally shattered and Lucifer could carefully peel it away, revealing each nerve ending and exposing it to unending tortures. Sometimes he had been brought to the point of begging for something else entirely, his stomach cramping at the memories of how he had debased himself.) But as ashamed as he feels about it - Dean is here laying himself bare and Sam can only try and convince his brother with logic - he cannot reveal those secrets that he’s been carrying with him ever since Cas has broken his wall down.</p><p>So he doesn’t say anything and simply watches as Dean clamps up again, burying the shame deeper, knowing that his little pep talk did not actually grant his brother the relief he was hoping for. </p><p>But before he can decide on a different course of action - after all what would it help to bring Lucifer up again, he had done so already since Amara’s walking the earth and it had ended in a disaster, he didn’t think Dean wanted to hear anything more and even if the distraction of anger might keep Dean from dwelling on his own shame for a bit, Sam doesn’t think it’s going to fix anything in the long run - , he finds something else. A hand of God, a rare and very powerful artifact. And maybe, just maybe if they can defeat Amara before Dean’s mental state breaks apart completely, maybe then Sam never has to talk about any of those things he’s feeling with another person. He isn’t even sure if Cas fully understands it. Back when he took on his memories he had still been quite unused to the whole being human thing and then there’s the whole issue with whether or not it had all been like a movie for Cas or if he had felt it like it was happening to himself, but Sam had never dared to ask and Cas had never offered. But then it doesn’t matter. They have much more important things to do now.</p><p>The hand of God was sunk with a submarine, but when they tell Cas about it, he perks up and confidently says: “I can take you back there.” Seeing their puzzled faces he continues. “It’s not going to be easy of course, we need to find the exactly right coordinates and the right time, but… yes it should be possible.”</p><p>“But… is that even possible with your wings?” Dean interjects. </p><p>Cas bristles for a second, seemingly offended at the mere thought of it not being possible, then he nods, the movement impatient. “It’s a different kind of physics. I need my wings to propel me forward in space. Time travel is more like… just stepping to the side. It’s still draining, but I don’t need my wings for it.”</p><p>“Alright, that sounds great. Sammy, do these logs have times on it?”</p><p>The mood in the room is quickly changing. Now that they have a plan and a way to achieve their goal for the first time in forever it feels like they are unfreezing, finally breaking free from their entombment and ready to spring into action. “Sure. The last one they sent off has their exact coordinates here, but of course there was nothing after it anymore. So I don’t entirely know how much time that would give us.”</p><p>“I’m sure Cas and me can handle it. Right?” Cas nods, while Sam is still reeling to understand what his brother just said.</p><p>“Cas and you? Why not all of us?” he asks, trying to remember if Cas ever mentioned that there was a limit on how many people he could take with him. The last time they had done it, it had whipped him out, but he had seemed to be struggling more with being cut off from heaven at that time and the time span that he had to cover than how many people he took with him. Sam has long ago given up on trying to make his brother less protective off him (it never helps, not really), but somehow he doesn’t think that is what this is about. After all, time travel is nothing new to either of them and they are both familiar with the dangers. It’s not that bad. </p><p>“’Cause I need somebody here to make sure nothing goes wrong, so I can come back safely. And more importantly…” Dean swallows hard, his facade faltering and then shattering as he continues. “I need you to stay here if something goes wrong. If only one of us is left to fight Amara, it has to be be you. I… I can’t do that myself, you know that. So please…”</p><p>Sam feels a pang at the desperation in Dean’s voice and he doesn’t want to fight Dean on this. Alright. So how do you wanna do this?”</p><p>Dean straightens again and grins. “Just gotta grab some weapons and I’m ready to rumble. That okay with you, Cas?”</p><p>Cas nods and Dean leaves. “You sure, you’re gonna be fine, Cas?”</p><p>“I’m sure. Especially since I only take Dean with me, it should be no problem.” Cas smiles and Sam forces his worries down. He’ll have more than enough time to sit here frozen with terror once Dean and Cas are gone. For now he can still make himself useful.</p><p>“Can I help with any of the preparations?” </p><p>“For the time travel not so much, but is there anything in the logs that we should be aware of? Like how many people are on deck?”</p><p>“I saw something about that before, let me just find it real quick.” As Sam bends over the ledger again, Cas leans against the table and cards his fingers through Sam’s hair and Sam leans into the gentle touch. </p><p>By the time Sam has found the right part of the text and given Cas the information, Dean is ready. With one last reassuring squeeze of Sam’s shoulder, Cas pushes away from the table and steps up to Dean. </p><p>“See you soon, Sammy”, Dean says and even though he tries to sounds confident, Sam can see the fear that always comes with taking a trip like that. </p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t let him out of my sight”, Cas reassures Sam, before clasping his hand around Dean’s arm. Dean’s smile falters at the touch and then he disappears into thin air with the rustle of clothes. </p><p>Sam is left behind, clutching the log of the ships communication with white knuckles. For now, he’s alone, entirely so, in the first time in a long time and it scares him more than he would like to admit.</p><p>Even though he knows there’s nothing in the logs that will give him any more information, Sam forces himself to settle down and read through them again. The Nazis suspected a powerful artifact on the submarine, they tracked it and they got close, but then they lost contact to their own ship as well as the submarine. The USS Bluefin was sunk and not found, but the exact times are a blur. Sam just hopes Dean and Cas make it out in time. From his position there is nothing he can do and-</p><p>The Bunker door creaks open and suddenly Cas steps in, soaking wet and clearly displeased. Sam’s heart rate rockets up. This was too fast. And where is Dean?</p><p>Cas grumbles in answer to his question. “He got in, I didn’t. I couldn’t make it past the hull, it’s probably warded.”</p><p>Panic squeezes Sam’s chest again and he can feel himself become lightheaded with the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear. They can’t abandon Dean to a watery grave. There has to be a way to save him. </p><p>Sam grabs for one of the ledgers they still had out when they researched grace to see if there was a way to fix Cas. Back then they were only worried about getting Cas back to normal, but maybe there’s another way to power him up. It doesn’t take him long to find a spell of gathering, a spell that helps an angel break through wardings, and a wave of relief hits him hard enough to make him dizzy. The fact that it uses archangel grace sends him crashing back down fast though. </p><p>But Cas seems convinced that they can make it work somehow and then Sam remembers something else. When he and Dean were stuck in the past, Cas used Bobby’s soul to gain strength. Even though he remembers how unpleasant it had been when Cas last touched his soul (never mind the other times Lucifer had rooted around inside his chest), he knows Cas will be careful not to harm him too much. And maybe then they will be able to get Dean back. </p><p>And so he offers himself. “Use my soul. I trust you.”</p><p>Cas smiles, softly at first and Sam knows that hearing that from him means a lot to the angel. He steps forward, his fingers already reaching for the top button of his shirt, when suddenly Cas’ smile widens further and he throws his head back and laughs. </p><p>Sam comes to a stumbling halt, the relief at having found a solution fading fast as first confusion and then fear crushes into him (not Cas, not Cas, not Cas, his mind is screaming, but it screeches to a terrified stop over all the scenarios over who it could be instead). “What?” His stomach twists and he recoils as Cas takes big steps towards him, crowding into his space. Cas’- Not-Cas’- hands grab his shirt and he is pushed backwards, slightly lifted off the ground with the movement and it could be funny, Cas being so much smaller than him, but it’s just terrifying, sending a lurch of terror through his stomach. </p><p>“Oh, it's just - I don't need you anymore. I mean, Dean's the one with the link to Amara, why have I been trying to spare you? I mean maybe it's because you're like the girl who kept turning me down at the prom.” </p><p>The grin spreads and the mask that was already loosening is knocked off entirely. And now, Sam knows. He tries to struggle, but there’s no way out and when not-Cas (he can’t say his name just yet, can’t even think it, it’s all too fast, too much) slams him into the column a pained grunt escapes him. </p><p>“I will touch your soul. Just because you asked so nicely-”</p><p>And while the angel continues talking, Sam stops hearing him, his blood rushing in his ears and terror like a million tiny ants crawling through his veins. </p><p>“Lucifer”, he finally bites out, but there’s no anger, just shock, the name comes out breathy, his voice trembling and thin and Cas’s face stretches into this big smile, the smile that doesn’t seem to fit on his face, the smile that Sam questioned only a bit the past few days, thinking it was just because Cas was happy, finally happy, but now he sees that it doesn’t really fit on Cas’ face at all, it’s weird and alien and full of malicious glee and Sam suddenly doesn’t understand how he couldn’t see it before. </p><p>“In the flesh”, Lucifer grins. “Well, not mine per-se, but dear Cassie here begged so sweetly for me get all up inside him. And so I did and I put him in his own little room with a nice TV, where he’s watching all of Fox’ Lucifer right now and I think he’s having fun. He really liked cop procedures. Thinks it will make him a better hunter. But it gave me a lot of time to catch up on what I had missed and wow, you really held out on me, Sam. I mean, not in a thousand years I would have thought that when Death separated us you created a hallucination of me to keep you company. You big romantic. You know how to make your dear old devil feel special.”</p><p>Sam tries to block his mocking out, fights the shame and terror that’s welling up inside him (there’s time for that later), but he’s still not sure how Lucifer managed to trick him again. The question spills out before he can stop it, desperate and pathetic. </p><p>“Ho- How? You were cold at first, how did you-?” Lucifer has let go of Sam’s collar and his hand is now cupping his face, Cas’ fingers (so warm and with Cas this close to him, the herby smell is stronger again and it makes Sam’s stomach cramp) rubbing gentle circles on his cheek.</p><p>“Well, normally I don’t have to mask my grace, normal people can’t feel the difference anyway, but you… well, you’ve always been special. You know my true essence better than anyone else and so you could tell that it wasn’t like the Cas you knew. I had to drink demon blood so you would finally touch me. And use those nasty herbs so you don’t figure it out. But you always say yes to me so easily when drugs are involved, don’t you, Sammy? And I know we don’t have a lot of time, not if we don’t want your brother to go down with the Hand of God, but I’m just wondering: Since you can now draw a comparison between us… Was I better than him?” Lucifer’s fingers slide off Sam’s face and down to his shirt, popping open the top button and Sam wishes he could move back further, but the column is solid against his back and Lucifer is solid in front of him and there’s no way out.</p><p>Sam doesn’t reply, can’t reply, his body frozen solid and even if Sam could open his mouth, he isn’t sure how he should phrase any of the thoughts that are jumbling in a disjointed mess through his head, and Lucifer rolls his eyes, before his hand abandons the buttons and slides lower down Sam’s chest and under his rib cage and then lurches forward. </p><p>Sam can feel it pass through his shirt, the rustle of fabric and then into his flesh, tearing through him in a way that should be impossible, except those rules don’t count for angels, they especially don’t count for archangels and Sam knows those fingers, knows exactly how they feel inside him, but it’s so much worse this time. Unlike when Cas had tried, back when he was soulless, Lucifer doesn’t try to make it quick. He wiggles his fingers around and smiles gleefully, like a child that’s roasting an ant with a magnifying glass when Sam throws his head back to scream as agony rushes through him.</p><p>He fades out and wakes up on the floor just as Lucifer gets to his knees beside him, his shirt rolled up, exposing his arm and Sam doesn’t know why Lucifer dropped him, unless he wants to straddle him, hold him down while Sam bucks underneath him as his fingers slide inside to caress Sam’s soul and he tries to crawl away, knows it will only increase his punishment once Lucifer catches him (and Lucifer always catches him. There’s nowhere that Sam can run where Lucifer won’t find him.), but he still has to try. </p><p>“Sam, it’s me”, Cas bites out, his face pulled tight with exertion. Lucifer has faked at being Cas for so long now, that seeing the real Cas hits Sam like a shock wave. The difference is noticeable immediately and again Sam can’t help but feel like an idiot for not seeing it before. </p><p>Sam has so many things he wants to ask Cas, but for now a “Why?” will have to suffice. They don’t have enough time to talk about all the things they need too and so Sam only focuses on the most important thing.</p><p>And while it hurts to hear Cas’ voice crack as he admits that he wanted to feel useful, that this is the only way he could imagine beating Amara, Sam knows that none of that matters until Cas ejects Lucifer. </p><p>He urges him on, but Cas just pushes away from him and starts twitching, mumbles one last “I’m sorry”, before his face morphs into Lucifer’s angry grimace again. </p><p>“Well, that was touching. But I think if you don’t want your brother to die, we should really get in that sub now or he will drown. Not that I care for him, but I do need that hand of God, so be a good boy and hold still for me, okay? Just like old times.”</p><p>And then Lucifer is on top of him, knees bracketing Sam’s hips and he’s heavy on top of him, but before he can thrust his hand inside again, he stops and smiles. “Oh, I think Dean finally destroyed the warding. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a second and we can pick up where we left off.”</p><p>Then Lucifer poofs out of existence. Before Sam has time to straighten up again or even fix his shirt, there’s another rustle and a gush of air and Dean is there, clutching a piece of cloth in his hand and Lucifer is grinning beside him, his hungry graze focused entirely on the bundle.</p><p>Sam calls out, warns him from the danger and still trying to take everything in Dean doesn’t have the opportunity to turn around or step away, before Lucifer flings him across the room. Sam can hear him gloat, his grating voice fading into the background as Sam spots a small knife that was flung off the table near him on the ground when Dean was hurled across it. His entire body hurts, first from being slammed into the pillar, then the bruising ache of having a hand shoved through his chest, but he can’t let those injuries stop him. He quickly crawls forward and grabs it, drawing a deep line in his palm, right across where the scar used to be. He focuses on drawing the angel banishing sigil as quick and carefully as he can, but when he hears his brother call out a terrified “No!” he watches, suddenly frozen, the last strokes still missing on the warding as Lucifer unwraps the hand of god and curls his fingers around it. Lucifer smiles and closes his eyes, contentment spreading over his face, but it quickly darkens when nothing happens. </p><p>“It’s kicked”, he hisses and rage radiates off him like sparks as he advances towards Dean, who is still pinned. </p><p>Sam quickly returns to the angel sigil, his fingers rushing to finish the drawing before Lucifer peels his brother’s skin off and then he slams his palm against it, bright light flooding the library and when Sam can see again, Dean has sunk to the ground and Lucifer is gone.</p><p>Pushing his shaking body further, Sam forces himself to crawl closer to his brother. </p><p>“You okay?”, he asks once he gets close enough and Dean, still shell-shocked, only nods with a dazed look in his eyes. </p><p>“Physically? Yeah. You?”</p><p>Sam can still feel Lucifer’s fingers rooting around inside him, phantom pains shooting through his sore chest, but he nods anyway. After all he’s alive.</p><p>“You don’t happen to remember those wardings that were in the submarine by any chance, do you?”</p><p>Pain flashes through Dean’s eyes and Sam knows that despite his short time on the submarine, Dean feels guilty for the fate of the people on board. But he pulls himself out of it and nods. “Yeah, I do. I erased them myself, so Cas… so <i>he</i> could get me out.”</p><p>Sam pushes himself up and grabs some paper and a pen from the table. “Well, could you jot it down here for me? I think we should hurry and get the Bunker fully warded before…”</p><p>Sam doesn’t have to finish the sentence, because Dean also pushes himself up as well and grabs the paper. “I’ll help you.”</p>
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